THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

MRS.  PALMER  H.  COOK 


:.•••'"  O< 


•/:•  ••• 


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THE    SHIP    IN    THE    DESERT. 


THE 


SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


BY 


JOAQUIN    MILLER, 

AUTHOR  OF   "SONGS  OF  THE   SIERRAS "    AND     "  SONGS    OF 


THE    SUN-LANDS." 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS. 

1875. 


Copyright,  1875, 
BY  C.  H.  MILLEK. 


Cambridge: 
Press  of  John  Wilson  &  Sari. 


College 
Library 

TS 


S55 


ON  THE  FOOTHILLS  OK 


THE    OREGON    SIERRAS. 


682338 


PREFACE. 


ITH  deep  reverence  I  inscribe 
these  lines,  my  dear  parents,  to 
you.  I  see  you  now,  away  be- 
yond the  seas,  beyond  the  lands 
where  the  sun  goes  down  in  the  Pacific  like 
some  great  ship  of  fire,  resting  still  on  the 
green  hills,  watching  your  herds,  waiting 

"  Where  rolls  the  Oregon, 
And  hears  no  sound  save  its  own  dashing." 

Nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  you  took 
me  the  long  and  lonesome  half-year's  journey 
across  the  mighty  continent,  wild,  and  rent, 
and  broken  up,  and  sown  with  sand  and  ashes, 


via  PREFACE. 

and  crossed  by  tumbling,  wooded  rivers  that 
ran  as  if  glad  to  get  away,  fresh  and  strange 
and  new  as  if  but  half-fashioned  from  the  hand 
of  God. 

All  the  time  as  I  tread  this  strange  land  I 
re-live  those  scenes,  and  you  are  with  me. 
How  dark  and  deep,  how  sullen,  strong,  and 
lion-like  the  mighty  Missouri  rolled  between 
his  walls  of  untracked  wood  and  cleft  the 
unknown  domain  of  the  middle  world  before 
us! 

Then  the  frail  and  buffeted  rafts  on  the 
river,  the  women  and  children  huddled  to- 
gether, the  shouts  of  the  brawny  men  as  they 
swam  with  the  bellowing  cattle ;  the  cows  in 
the  stormy  stream,  eddying,  whirling,  spin- 
ning about,  calling  to  their  young,  their  bright 
horns  shining  in  the  sun.  .  .  .  The  wild  men 
waiting  on  the  other  side,  painted  savages 
leaning  silent  on  their  bows,  despising  our 
weakness,  opening  a  way,  letting  us  pass  on 


PREFACE.  ix 

to  the  unknown  distances,  where  they  said  the 
sun  and  moon  lay  down  together  and  brought 
forth  the  stars.  .  .  .  The  long  and  winding 
lines  of  wagons,  the  graves  by  the  wayside, 
the  women  weeping  together  as  they  passed 
on.  Then  hills,  then  plains,  parched  lands 
like  Syria,  dust,  and  ashes,  and  alkali,  cool 
streams  with  woods,  camps  by  night,  great 
wood  fires  in  circles,  tents  in  the  centre  like 
Caesar's  battle-camps,' painted  men  that  passed 
like  shadows,  showers  of  arrows,  the  wild 
beasts  howling  from  the  hill.  .  .  . 

You,  my  dear  parents,  will  pardon  the  thread 
of  fiction  on  which  I  have  strung  these  scenes 
and  descriptions  of  a  mighty  land  of  mystery, 
and  wild  and  savage  grandeur,  for  the  world 
will  have  its  way,  and,  like  a  spoiled  child, 
demands  a  tale. 

"  Yea, 

We  who  toil  and  earn  our  bretid 
Still  have  our  masters.  .  .  ." 


x  PREFACE. 

A  ragged  and  broken  story  it  is,  with  long 
deserts,  with  alkali  and -ashes,  yet  it  may,  like 
the  land  it  deals  of,  have  some  green  places, 
and  woods,  and  running  waters,  where  you  can 
rest.  .  .  . 

Three  times  now  I  have  ranged  the  great 
West  in  fancy,  as  I  did  in  fact  for  twenty  years, 
and  gathered  unknown  and  unnamed  blossoms 
from  mountain-top,  from  desert  level,  where 
man  never  ranged  before,  and  asked  the  world 
to  receive  my  weeds,  my  grasses,  and  blue-eyed 
blossoms.  But  here  it  ends.  Good  or  bad,  I 
have  done  enough  of  this  work  on  the  border. 
The  Orient  promises  a  more  grateful  harvest. 

I  have  been  true  to  my  West.  She  has  been 
my  only  love.  I  have  remembered  her  great- 
ness. I  have  done  my  work  to  show  to  the 
world  her  vastness,  her  riches,  her  resources, 
her  valor  and  her  dignity,  her  poetry  and  her 
grandeur.  Yet  while  I  was  going  on,  working 
so  in  silence,  what  were  the  things  she  said  of 


PREFACE.  xi 

me?  But  let  that  pass,  my  dear  parents. 
Others  will  come  after  us.  Possibly  I  have 
blazed  out  the  trail  for  great  minds  over  this 
field,  as  you  did  across  the  deserts  and  plains 
for  great  men  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago. 

JOAQUIN   MILLER. 
LAKE  COMO,  Italy. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 


I. 

MAN  in  middle  Aridzone 
Stood  by  the  desert's  edge  alone, 
And  long  he  look'd,  and  lean'd. 

He  peer'd, 
Above  his  twirl'd  and  twisted  beard, 
Beneath  his  black  arid  slouchy  hat  .  .  . 
Nay,  nay,  the  tale  is  not  of  that. 


A  skin-clad  trapper,  toe-a-tip, 
Stood  on  a  mountain  top,  and  he 
Look'd  long  and  still  and  eagerly. 
"  It  looks  so  like  some  lonesome  ship 


14  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

That  sails  this  ghostly  lonely  sea,  — 
This  dried-up  desert  sea,"  said  he, 
"  These  tawny  sands  of  Arazit "... 
Avaunt !  the  tale  is  not  of  it. 

A  chief  from  out  the  desert's  rim 
Rode  swift  as  twilight  swallows  swim, 
Or  eagle  blown  from  eyrie  nest. 
His  trim-limb'd  steed  was  black  as  night, 
His  long  black  hair  had  blossom'd  white, 
With  feathers  from  the  koko's  crest ; 
His  iron  face  was  flush'd  and  red, 
His  eyes  flash'd  fire  as  he  fled, 
For  he  had  seen  unsightly  things  ; 
Had  felt  the  flapping  of  their  wings. 

A  wild  and  wiry  man  was  he, 
This  tawny  chief  of  Shoshonee  ; 
And  O  his  supple  steed  was  fleet ! 
About  his  breast  flapp'd  panther  skins, 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  15 

About  his  eager  flying  feet 
Flapp'd  beaded,  braided  moccasins : 
He  rode  as  rides  the  hurricane ; 
He  seem'd  to  swallow  up  the  plain ; 
He  rode  as  never  man  did  ride, 
He  rode,  for  ghosts  rode  at  his  side, 
And  on  his  right  a  grizzled  grim  — 
No,  no,  this  tale  is  not  of  him. 

An  Indian  warrior  lost  his  way 
While  prowling  on  this  desert's  edge 
In  fragrant  sage  and  prickly  hedge, 
When  suddenly  he  saw  a  sight, 
And  turn'd  his  steed  in  eager  flight. 
He  rode  right  through  the  edge  of  day, 
He  rode  into  the  rolling  night. 

He  lean'd,  he  reach'd  an  eager  face, 
His  black  wolf  skin  flapp'd  out  and  in, 
And  tiger  claws  on  tiger  skin 


1 6  THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

Held  seat  and  saddle  to  its  place ; 

But  that  gray  ghost  that  clutch'd  thereat  . 

Arr£te  1  the  tale  is  not  of  that. 

A  chieftain  touch'd  the  desert's  rim 
One  autumn  eve :  he  rode  alone 
And  still  as  moon-made  shadows  swim. 
He  stopp'd,  he  stood  as  still  as  stone, 
He  lean'd,  he  look'd,  there  glisten'd  bright 
From  out  the  yellow  yielding  sand 
A  golden  cup  with  jewell'd  rim. 
He  lean'd  him  low,  he  reach'd  a  hand, 
He  caught  it  up,  he  gallop'd  on, 
He  turn'd  his  head,  he  saw  a  sight  .  .  . 
His  panther  skins  flew  to  the  wind, 
The  dark,  the  desert  lay  behind ; 
The  tawny  Ishmaelite  was  gone  ; 
But  something  sombre  as  death  is  ... 
Tut,  tut !  the  tale  is  not  of  this. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.  17 

A  mountaineer,  storm-stained  and  brown, 
From  farthest  desert  touched  the  town, 
And,  striding  through  the  crowd,  held  up 
Above  his  head  a  jewell'd  cup. 
He  put  two  fingers  to  his  lip, 
He  whisper'd  wild,  he  stood  a-tip, 
And  lean'd  the  while  with  lifted  hand, 
And  said,  "  A  ship  lies  yonder  dead," 
And  said,  "  Doubloons  lie  sown  in  sand 
In  yon  far  desert  dead  and  brown, 
Beyond  where  wave-wash'd  walls  look  down, 
As  thick  as  stars  set  overhead. 
That  three  shipmasts  uplift  like  trees"  .  .  . 
Away  !  the  tale  is  not  of  these. 

An  Indian  hunter  held  a  plate 
Of  gold  above  his  lifted  head, 
Around  which  kings  had  sat  in  state  .  .  . 
"  'Tis  from  that  desert  ship,"  they  said, 
"  That  sails  with  neither  sail  nor  breeze, 


i8  THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

Or  galleon,  that  sank  below 

Of  old,  in  olden  dried-up  seas, 

Ere  yet  the  red  men  drew  the  bow." 

But  wrinkled  women  wagg'd  the  head, 
And  walls  of  warriors  sat  that  night 
In  black,  nor  streak  of  battle  red, 
Around  against  the  red  camp  light, 
And  told  such  wondrous  tales  as  these 
Of  wealth  within  their  dried-up  seas. 

And  one,  girt  well  in  tiger's  skin, 
Who  stood,  like  Saul,  above  the  rest, 
With  dangling  claws  about  his  breast, 
A  belt  without,  a  blade  within, 
A  warrior  with  a  painted  face, 
And  lines  that  shadow'd  stern  and  grim, 
Stood  pointing  east  from  his  high  place, 
And  hurling  thought  like  cannon  shot, 
Stood  high  with  visage  flush'd  and  hot  .  , 
But,  stay !  this  tale  is  not  of  him. 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  19 


II. 

BY  Arizona's  sea  of  sand 
Some  bearded  miners,  gray  and  old, 
And  resolute  in  search  of  gold, 
Sat  down  to  tap  the  savage  land. 

They  tented  in  a  canon's  mouth 
That  gaped  against  the  warm  wide  south, 
And  underneath  a  wave-wash'd  wall, 
Where  now  nor  rains  nor  winds  may  fall, 
They  delved  the  level  salt-white  sands 
For  gold,  with  bold  and  horne'd  hands. 

A  miner  stood  beside  his  mine, 
He  pull'd  his  beard,  then  look'd  away 
Across  the  level  sea  of  sand, 
Beneath  his  broad  and  hairy  hand, 
A  hand  as  hard  as  knots  of  pine. 


20  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

"  It  looks  so  like  a  sea,"  said  he. 
He  pull'd  his  beard,  and  he  did  say, 
"  It  looks  just  like  a  dried-up  sea." 
Again  he  pull'd  that  beard  of  his, 
But  said  no  other  thing  than  this. 

A  stalwart  miner  dealt  a  stroke, 
And  struck  a  buried  beam  of  oak. 
An  old  ship's  beam  the  shaft  appear'd, 
With  storm-worn  faded  figure-head. 
The  miner  twisted,  twirled  his  beard, 
Lean'd  on  his  pick-axe  as  he  spoke : 
"  'Tis  from  some  long-lost  ship,"  he  said, 
"  Some  laden  ship  of  Solomon 
That  sail'd  these  lonesome  seas  upon 
In  search  of  Ophir's  mine,  ah  me  ! 

i 

That  sail'd  this  dried-up  desert  sea."  .  . 
Nay,  nay,  'tis  not  a  tale  of  gold, 
But  ghostly  land  storm-slain  and  old. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.  21 


III. 


BUT  this  the  tale.     Along  a  wide 
And  sounding  stream  some  silent  braves, 
That  stole  along  the  farther  side 
Through  sweeping  wood  that  swept  the  waves 
Like  long  arms  reach'd  across  the  tide, 
Kept  watch  and  ward  and  still  defied.  .  .  . 

A  low  black  boat  that  hugg'd  the  shores, 
An  ugly  boat,  an  ugly  crew, 
Thick-lipp'd  and  woolly-headed  slaves, 
That  bow'd,  that  bent  the  white-ash  oars, 
That  cleft  the  murky  waters  through, 
That  climb'd  the  swift  Missouri's  waves,  — 
The  surly,  woolly-headed  slaves. 

A  grand  old  Neptune  in  the  prow, 
Gray-hair'd,  and  white  with  touch  of  time. 


22  THE   SHIP   IN  THE  DESERT. 

Yet  strong  as  in  his  middle  prime ; 
A  grizzled  king,  I  see  him  now, 
With  beard  as  blown  by  wind  of  seas, 
And  wild  and  white  as  white  sea-storm, 
Stand  up,  turn  suddenly,  look  back 
Along  the  low  boat's  wrinkled  track, 
•  Then  fold  his  mantle  round  a  form 
Broad-built  as  any  Hercules, 
And  so  sit  silently. 

Beside 

The  grim  old  sea-king  sits  his  bride, 
A  sun-land  blossom,  rudely  torn 
From  tropic  forests  to  be  worn 
Above  as  stern  a  breast  as  e'er 
Stood  king  at  sea  or  anywhere.  .  .  . 

Another  boat  with  other  crew 
Came  swift  and  silent  in  her  track, 
And  now  shot  shoreward,  now  shot  back, 
And  now  sat  rocking  fro  and  to, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.  23 

But  never  once  lost  sight  of  her. 
Tall,  sunburnt,  southern  men  were  these 
From  isles  of  blue  Caribbean  seas, 
And  one,  that  woman's  worshipper, 
Who  looked  on  her,  and  loved  but  her. 

And  one,  that  one,  was  wild  as  seas 
That  wash  the  far  dark  Oregon, 
And  ever  leaning,  urging  on, 
And  standing  up  in  restless  ease, 
He  seem'd  as  lithe  and  free  and  tall 
And  restless  as  the  boughs  that  stir 
Perpetual  topt  poplar  trees. 
And  one,  that  one,  had  eyes  to  teach 
The  art  of  love,  and  tongue  to  preach 
Life's  hard  and  sober  homilies ; 
And  yet  his  eager  hands,  his  speech, 
All  spoke  the  bold  adventurer  ; 
While  zoned  about  the  belt  of  each 
There  swung  a  girt  of  steel,  till  all 
Did  seem  a  walking  arsenal. 


24  THE   SHIP   IN   THE   DESERT. 


IV. 

PUKSUEE  and  pursued.     And  who 
Are  these  that  make  the  sable  crew  ; 
These  mighty  Titans,  black  and  nude, 
And  hairy-breasted,  bronzed  and  broad 
Of  chest  as  any  demi-god, 
That  dare  this  peopled  solitude  ? 

And  who  is  he  that  leads  them  here, 
And  breaks  the  hush  of  wave  and  wood  ? 
Comes  he  for  evil  or  for  good  ? 
Brave  Jesuit  or  bold  buccaneer  ? 

Nay,  these  be  idle  themes.     Let  pass. 
These  be  but  men.     We  may  forget 
The  wild  sea-king,  the  tawny  brave, 
The  frowning  wold,  the  woody  shore, 
The  tall-built,  sunburnt  men  of  Mars.  .  . 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE   DESERT.  25 

But  what  and  who  was  she,  the  fair  ? 
The  fairest  face  that  ever  yet 
Look'd  in  a  wave  as  in  a  glass  ; 
That  look'd  as  look  the  still,  far  stars, 
So  woman-like,  into  the  wave 
To  contemplate  their  beauty  there, 
Yet  look  as  looking  anywhere  ? 

And  who  of  all  the  world  was  she  ? 
A  bride,  or  not  a  bride  ?     A  thing 
To  love  ?     A  prison'd  bird  to  sing  ? 
You  shall  not  know.     That  shall  not  be 
Brought  from  the  future's  great  profound 
This  side  the  happy  hunting-ground. 

I  only  saw  her,  heard  the  sound 
Of  murky  waters  gurgling  round 
In  counter-currents  from  the  shore, 
But  heard  the  long,  strong  stroke  of  oar 
Against  the  waters  gray  and  vast. 

I  only  saw  her  as  she  pass'd  — 
2 


26  THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

A  great,  sad  beauty,  in  whose  eyes 
Lay  all  -the  loves  of  Paradise.  .  .  . 

You  shall  not  know  her —  she  who  sat 
Unconscious  in  my  heart  all  time 
I  dream'd  and  wove  this  wayward  rhyme, 
And  loved  and  did  not  blush  thereat. 

The  sunlight  of  a  sunlit  land, 
A  land  of  fruit,  of  flowers,  and 
A  land  of  love  and  calm  delight ; 
A  land  where  night  is  not  like  night, 
And  noon  is  but  a  name  for  rest, 
And  love  for  love  is  reckoned  best. 

Where  conversations  of  the  eyes 
Are  all  enough  ;  where  beauty  thrills 
The  heart  like  hues  of  harvest-home  ; 
Where  rage  lies  down,  where  passion  dies, 
Where  peace  hath  her  abiding  place.  .  .  . 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  27 

A  face  that  lifted  up ;  sweet  face 
That  was  so  like  a  life  begun, 
That  rose  for  me  a  rising  sun 
Above  the  bended  seven  hills 
Of  dead  and  risen  old  new  Rome. 

Not  that  I  deem'd  she  loved  me.     Nay, 
I  dared  not  even  dream  of  that. 
I  only  say  I  knew  her  ;  say 
She  ever  sat  before  me,  sat 
All  still  and  voiceless  as  love  is, 
And  ever  look'd  so  fair,  divine, 
Her  hush'd,  vehement  soul  fill'd  mine, 
And  overflowed  with  Runic  bliss, 
And  made  itself  a  part  of  this. 

O  you  had  loved  her  sitting  there, 
Half  hidden  in  her  loosen'd  hair : 
Why,  you  had  loved  her  for  her  eyes, 
Their  large  and  melancholy  look 


28  THE   SHIP  IN   THE   DESERT. 

Of  tenderness,  and  well  mistook 
Their  love  for  light  of  Paradise. 

Yea,  loved:  her  for  her  large  dark  eyes  ; 
Yea,  loved  her  for  her  brow's  soft  brown ; 
Her  hand  as  light  as  heaven's  bars  ; 
Yea,  loved  her  for  her  mouth.     Her  mouth 
Was  roses  gather'd  from  the  south, 
The  warm  south  side  of  Paradise, 
And  breathed  upon  and  handed  down, 
By  angels  on  a  stair  of  stars. 

Her  mouth !  'twas  Egypt's  mouth  of  old, 
Push'd  out  and  pouting  full  and  bold 
With  simple  beauty  where  she  sat. 
Why,  you  had  said,  on  seeing  her, 
This  creature  comes  from  out  the  dim 
Far  centuries,  beyond  the  rim 
Of  time's  remotest  reach  or  stir. 
And  he  who  wrought  Semiramis 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  29 

And  shaped  the  Sibyls,  seeing  this, 
Had  bow'd  and  made  a  shrine  thereat, 
And  all  his  life  had  worshipp'd  her, 
Devout  as  north-Nile  worshipper. 

I  dared  not  dream  she  loved  me.     Nay, 
Her  love  was  proud  ;  and  pride  is  loth 
To  look  with  favor,  own  it  fond 
Of  one  the  world  loves  not  to-day.  .  .  . 
No  matter  if  she  loved  or  no, 
God  knows  I  loved  enough  for  both, 
And  knew  her  as  you  shall  not  know 
Till  you  have  known  sweet  death,  and  you 
Have  cross'd  the  dark  ;  gone  over  to 
The  great  majority  beyond. 


30  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


V. 


THE  black  men  bow'd,  the  long  oars  bent, 
They  struck  as  if  for  sweet  life's  sake, 
And  one  look'd  back,  but  no  man  spake, 
And  all  wills  bent  to  one  intent. 

On  through  the  golden  fringe  of  day 
Into  the  deep,  dark  night,  away 
And  up  the  wave  'mid  walls  of  wood 
They  cleft,  they  climb'd,  they  bowed,  they 

bent, 

But  one  stood  tall,  and  restless  stood, 
And  one  sat  still  all  night,  all  day, 
And  gazed  in  helpless  wonderment. 

Her  hair  pour'd  down  like  darkling  wine, 
The  black  men  lean'd,  a  sullen  line, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  31 

The  bent  oars  kept  a  steady  song, 
And  all  the  beams  of  bright  sunshine 
That  touch'd  the  waters  wild  and  strong, 
Fell  drifting  down  and  out  of  sight 
Like  fallen  leaves,  and  it  was  night. 

And  night  and  day,  and  many  days 
They  climb'd  the  sudden,  dark  gray  tide, 
And  she  sat  silent  at  his  side, 
And  he  sat  turning  many  ways : 

Sat  watching  for  his  wily  foe  ; 
At  last  he  baffled  him.     And  yet 
His  brow  gloom'd  dark,  his  lips  were  set ; 
He  lean'd,  he  peer'd  through  boughs,  as  though 
From  heart  of  forests  deep  and  dim 
Grim  shapes  could  come  confronting  him. 

A  grand,  uncommon  man  was  he, 
Broad-shoulder'd,  and  of  Gothic  form, 


32  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Strong-built,  and  hoary  like  a  sea  ; 
A  high  sea  broken  up  by  storm. 

His  face  was  brown  and  overwrought 
By  seams  and  shadows  born  of  thought, 
Not  over  gentle.     And  his  eyes, 
Bold,  restless,  resolute,  and  deep, 
Too  deep  to  flow  like  shallow  fount 
Of  common  men  where  waters  mount 
And  men  bend  down  their  heads  and  weep  — 
Fierce,  lumin'd  eyes,  where  flames  might  rise 
Instead  of  flood,  and  flash  and  sweep  — 
Strange  eyes,  that  look'd  unsatisfied 
With  all  things  fair  or  otherwise  ; 
As  if  his  inmost  soul  had  cried 
All  time  for  something  yet  unseen, 
Some  long-desired  thing  denied. 

A  man  whose  soul  was  mightier  far 
Than  his  great  self,  and  surged  and  fell 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  33 

About  himself  as  heaving  seas 

Lift  up  and  lash,  and  boom,  and  swell 

Above  some  solitary  bar 

That  bursts  through  blown  Samoa's  sea, 

And  wreck  and  toss  eternally. 


34  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


VI. 


BELOW  the  overhanging  boughs 
The  oars  laid  idle  at  the  last. 
Yet  long  he  look'd  for  hostile  prows 
From  out  the  wood  and  down  the  stream. 
They  came  not,  and  he  came  to  dream 
Pursuit  abandon'd,  danger  past. 

He  fell'd  the  oak,  he  built  a  home 
Of  new-hewn  wood  with  busy  hand, 
And  said,  "  My  wanderings  are  told." 
And  said,  "  No  more  by  sea,  by  land, 
Shall  I  break  rest,  or  drift,  or  roam, 
For  I  am  worn,  and  I  grow  old." 

And  there,  beside  that  surging  tide, 
Where  gray  waves  meet,  and  wheel,  and  strike. 
The  man  sat  down  as  satisfied 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  35 

To  sit  and  rest  unto  the  end  ; 
As  if  the  strong  man  here  had  found 
A  sort  of  brother  in  this  sea,  — 
This  surging,  sounding  majesty 
Of  troubled  water,  so  profound, 
So  sullen,  strong,  and  lion-like, 
So  sinuous  and  foamy  bound. 

Hast  seen  .Missouri  cleave  the  wood 
In  sounding  whirlpools  to  the  sea  ? 
What  soul  hath  known  such  majesty  ? 
What  man  stood  by  and  understood  ? 

By  pleasant  Omaha  I  stood, 
Beneath  a  fringe  of  mailed  wood, 
And  watch'd  the  mighty  waters  heave, 
And  surge,  and  strike,  and  wind,  and  weave, 
And  make  strange  sounds  and  mutterings, 
As  if  of  dark  unutter'd  things. 


36  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

By  pleasant  high-built  Omaha 
I  stand.     The  waves  beneath  me  run 
All  stain'd  and  yellow,  dark  and  dun, 
And  deep  as  death's  sweet  mystery,  — 
A  thousand  Tibers  roll'd  in  one. 
I  count  on  other  years.     I  draw 
The  curtain  from  the  scenes  to  be. 
I  see  another  Rome.     I  see 
A  Caesar  tower  in  the  land, 
And  take  her  in  his  iron  hand. 
I  see  a  throne,  a  king,  a  crown, 
A  high-built  capital  thrown  down. 

I  see  my  river  rise  .  .  . 

Away! 

The  world's  cold  commerce  of  to-day 
Demands  some  idle  flippant  theme  ; 
And  I,  your  minstrel,  must  sit  by, 
And  harp  along  the  edge  of  morn, 
And  sing  and  celebrate  to  please 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  37 

The  multitude,  the  mob,  and  these 

They  know  not  pearls  from  yellow  corn. 

Yea,  idly  sing  or  silent  dream  ; 

My  harp,  my  hand  is  yours,  but  I  — 

My  soul  moves  down  that  sounding  stream. 

Adieu,  dun,  mighty  stream,  adieu  ! 
Adown  thine  wooded  walls,  inwrought 
With  rose  of  Cherokee  and  vine, 
Was  never  heard  a  minstrel's  note, 
And  none  would  heed  a  song  of  mine. 
I  find  expression  for  my  thought 
In  other  themes.  .  .  .  List !  I  have  seen 
A  grizzly  sporting  on  the  green 
Of  west  sierras  with  a  goat, 
And  finding  pastime  all  day  through.  .  .  . 

O  sounding,  swift  Missouri,  born 
Of  Rocky  Mountains,  and  begot 
On  bed  of  snow  at  birth  of  morn, 


38  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Of  thunder-storms  and  elements 
That  reign  where  puny  man  comes  not, 
With  fountain-head  in  fields  of  gold, 
And  wide  arms  twining  wood  and  wold, 
And  everlasting  snowy  tents,  — 
I  hail  you  from  the  Orients. 

Shall  I  return  to  you  once  more  ? 
Shall  take  occasion  by  the  throat 
And  thrill  with  wild  jEolian  note  ? 
Shall  sit  and  sing  by  your  deep  shore  ? 
Shall  shape  a  reed  and  pipe  of  yore 
And  wake  old  melodies  made  new, 
And  thrill  thine  leaf-land  through  and  through  ? 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  39 


VII. 

THEN  long  the  long  oars  idle  lay. 
The  cabin's  smoke  came  forth  and  curl'd 
Right  lazily  from  river  brake, 
And  Time  went  by  the  other  way. 
And  who  was  she,  the  strong  man's  pride  ? 
This  one  fair  woman  of  the  world. 
A  captive  ?  Bride,  or  not  a  bride  ? 
Her  eyes,  men  say,  grew  sad  and  dim 
With  watching  from  the  river's  rim, 
As  waiting  for  some  face  denied. 
And  yet  she  never  wept  or  spake, 
Or  breath'd  his  name  for  her  love's  sake. 

•» 

Yea,  who  was  she  ?  —  none  ever  knew. 

The  great  strong  river  swept  around, 

The  cabins  nestled  in  its  bend, 

But  kept  its  secrets.     Wild  birds  flew 


40  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

In  bevies  by.     The  black  men  found 

Diversion  in  the  chase :  and  wide 

Old  Morgan  ranged  the  wood,  nor  friend, 

Nor  foe  man  ever  at  his  side 

Or  shared  his  forests  deep  and  dim, 

Or  cross'd  his  path  or  question'd  him. 

He  stood  as  one  who  found  and  named 
The  middle  world.     What  visions  flamed 
Athwart  the  west !     What  prophecies 
Were  his,  the  gray  old  man,  that  day 
Who  stood  alone  and  look'd  away,  — 
Awest  from  out  the  waving  trees, 
Against  the  utter  sundown  seas. 

Alone  oft-time  beside  the  stream 
He  stood  and  gazed  as  in  a  dream, 
As  if  he  knew  a  life  unknown 
To  those  who  knew  him  thus  alone. 

His  eyes  were  gray  and  overborne 


THE  SHIP  IN  TH'E  DESERT,  4* 

By  shaggy  brows,  his  strength  was  shorn, 

Yet  still  he  ever  gazed  a  west, 

As  one  who  would  not,  could  not  rest. 

And  whence  came  he  ?  and  when,  and  why  ? 
Men  question'd  men,  but  nought  was  known 
Save  that  he  roam'd  the  woods  alone, 
And  lived  alone  beneath  the  stir 
Of  leaves,  and  letting  life  go  by, 
Did  look  on  her  and  only  her. 

And  had  he  fled  with  bloody  hand  ? 
Or  had  he  loved  some  Helen  fair, 
And  battling  lost  both  land  and  town  ? 
Say,  did  he  see  his  walls  go  down, 
Then  choose  from  all  his  treasures  there 
This  love,  and  seek  some  other  land  ? 

And  yet  the  current  of  his  life 
Mostlike  had  flow'd  like  oil ;  had  been 


42  THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT. 

A  monk's,  for  aught  that  all  men  knew. 

Mostlike  the  sad  man's  only  sin, 

A  cruel  one,  for  thought  is  strife, 

Had  been  the  curse  of  thought  all  through. 

Mayhap  his  splendid  soul  had  spurn'd 
Insipid,  sweet  society, 
That  stinks  in  nostrils  of  all  men 
High-born  and  fearless-souled  and  free ;  — 
That  tasting  to  satiety 
Her  hollow  sweets  he  proudly  turn'd, 
And  did  rebel  and  curse  her  then ; 
And  then  did  stoop  and  from  the  sod 
Pluck  this  one  flower  for  his  breast, 
Then  turn  to  solitude  for  rest, 
And  turn  from  man  in  search  of  God. 

And  as  to  that,  I  reckon  it 
But  right,  but  Christian-like  and  just, 
And  closer  after  Christ's  own  plan, 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  43 

To  take  men  as  you  find  your  man, 
To  take  a  soul  from  God  on  trust, 
A  fit  man,  or  yourself  unfit : 

To  take  man  free  from  the  control 
Of  man's  opinion  :  take  a  soul 
In  its  own  troubled  world,  all  fair 
As  you  behold  it  then  and  there, 
Set  naked  in  your  sight,  alone, 
Unnamed,  unheralded,  unknown : 

Yea,  take  him  bravely  from  the  hand 
That  reach'd  him  forth  from  nothingness, 
That  took  his  tired  soul  to  keep 
All  night,  then  reach'd  him  out  from  sleep 
And  sat  him  equal  in  the  land ; 
Sent  out  from  where  the  angels  are, 
A  soul  new-born,  without  one  whit 
Of  bought  or  borrow'd  character. 

Ah,  bless  us !  if  we  only  could 


44  THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

As  ready  spin  and  willing  weave 
Sweet  tales  of  charity  and  good  ; 
Could  we  as  willing  clip  the  wings 
Of  cruel  tales  as  pleasant  things, 
How  sweet  'twould  then  be  to  believe, 
How  good  'twould  then  be  to  be  good. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  45 


VIII. 

THE  squirrels  chatter'd  in  the  leaves, 
The  turkeys  call'd  from  pawpaw  wood, 
The  deer  with  lifted  nostrils  stood, 
And  humming-birds  did  wind  and  weave, 
Swim  round  about,  dart  in  and  out, 
Through  fragrant  forest  edge  made  red, 
Made  many-colour'd  overhead 
By  climbing  blossoms  sweet  with  bee 
And  yellow  rose  of  Cherokee. 

Then  frosts  came  by  and  touch'd  the  leaves, 
Then  time  hung  ices  on  the  eaves, 
Then  cushion  snows  possess'd  the  ground, 
And  so  the  seasons  kept  their  round ; 
Yet  still  old  Morgan  went  and  came 
From  cabin  door  to  forest  dim, 
Through  wold  of  snows,  through  wood  of  flame, 


46  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Through  golden  Indian-summer  days, 
Hung  round  in  soft  September  haze, 
And  no  man  cross'd  or  question'd  him. 

Nay,  there  was  that  in  his  stern  air 
That  held  e'en  these  rude  men  aloof: 
None  came  to  share  the  broad-built  roof 
That  rose  so  fortress-like  beside 
The  angry,  rushing,  sullen  tide, 
And  only  black  men  gather'd  there, 
The  old  man's  slaves,  in  dull  content, 
Black,  silent,  and  obedient. 

Then  men  push'd  westward  through  his  wood, 
His  wild  beasts  fled,  and  now  he  stood 
Confronting  men.     He  had  endear'd 
No  man,  but  still  he  went  and  came 
Apart,  and  shook  his  beard  and  strode 
His  ways  alone,  and  bore  his  load, 
If  load  it  were,  apart,  alone. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  47 

Then  men  grew  busy  with  a  name 
That  no  man  loved,  that  many  fear'd, 
And  cowards  stoop'd,  and  cast  a  stone, 
As  at  some  statue  overthrown. 

Some  said  a  pirate  blown  by  night 
From  isles  of  calm  Caribbean  land, 
Who  left  his  comrades  ;  that  he  fled 
With  many  prices  on  his  head, 
And  that  he  bore  in  his  hot  flight 
The  gather'd  treasure  of  his  band, 
In  bloody  and  unholy  hand. 

Then  some  did  say  a  privateer, 
Then  others,  that  he  fled  from  fear, 
And  climb'd  the  mad  Missouri  far, 
To  where  the  friendly  forests  are  ; 
And  that  his  illy-gotten  gold 
Lay  sunken  in  his  black  boat's  hold. 
Then  others,  watching  his  fair  bride, 
Said,  "  There  is  something  more  beside." 


48  THE  SHIP   IN  THE  DESERT. 

Some  said,  a  stolen  bride  was  she, 
And  that  his  strong  arm  in  the  strife 
Was  red  with  her  own  brother's  life, 
And  that  her  lover  from  the  sea 
Lay  waiting  for  his  chosen  wife, 
And  that  a  day  of  reckoning 
Lay  waiting  for  this  grizzled  king. 

O  sweet  child-face,  that  ever  gazed 
From  out  the  wood  and  down  the  wave ! 
O  eyes,  that  never  once  were  raised  ! 
O  mouth,  that  never  murmur  gave  I 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  49 


IX. 

O  DARK-EYED  Ina  !     All  the  years 
Brought  her  but  solitude  and  tears. 
Lo  1  ever  looking  out  she  stood 
Adown  the  wave,  adown  the  wood, 
Adown  the  strong  stream  to  the  south, 
Sad-faced,  and  sorrowful.     Her  mouth 
Push'd  out  so  pitiful.     Her  eyes 
Fill'd  full  of  sorrow  and  surprise. 

Men  say  that  looking  from  her  place 
A  love  would  sometimes  light  her  face, 
As  if  sweet  recollections  stirr'd 
Her  heart  and  broke  its  loneliness, 
Like  far  sweet  songs  that  come  to  us, 
So  soft,  so  sweet,  they  are  not  heard, 


50  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

So  far,  so  faint,  they  fill  the  air, 
A  fragrance  filling  anywhere. 

And  wasting  all  her  summer  years 
That  utter'd  only  through  her'  tears, 
The  seasons  went,  and  still  she  stood 
For  ever  watching  down  the  wood. 

Yet  in  her  heart  there  held  a  strife 
With  all  this  wasting  of  sweet  life 
That  none  who  have  not  lived  and  died, 
Held  up  the  two  hands  crucified 
Between  the  ways  on  either  hand, 
Can  look  upon  or  understand. 

The  blackest  rain-clouds  muffle  fire  : 
Between  a  duty  and  desire 
There  lies  no  middle  way  or  land  : 
Take  thou  the  right  or  the  left  hand, 
And  so  pursue,  nor  hesitate 
To  boldly  give  your  hand  to  fate. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  51 

In  helpless  indecisions  lie 
The  rocks  on  which  we  strike  and  die. 
'Twere  better  far  to  choose  the  worst 
Of  all  life's  ways  than  to  be  cursed 
With  indecision.     Turn  and  choose 
Your  way,  then  all  the  world  refuse. 

And  men  who  saw  her  still  do  say 
That  never  once  her  lips  were  heard, 
By  gloaming  dusk  or  shining  day, 
To  utter  or  pronounce  one  word. 
Men  went  and  came,  and  still  she  stood 
In  silence  watching  down  the  wood. 

Yea,  still  she  stood  and  look'd  away, 
By  tawny  night,  by  fair-fac'd  day, 
Adown  the  wood  beyond  the  land, 
Her  hollow  face  upon  her  hand, 
Her  black,  abundant  hair  all  down 
About  her  loose,  ungather'd  gown. 


52  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

And  what  her  thought  ?  her  life  unsaid  ? 
Was  it  of  love  ?  of  hate  ?  of  him, 
The  tall,  dark  Southerner? 

Her  head 

Bow'd  down.     The  day  fell  dim 
Upon  her  eyes.     She  bow'd,  she  slept. 
She  waken'd  then,  and  waking  wept. 

She  dream'd,  perchance,  of  island  home, 
A  land  of  palms  ring'd  round  with  foam, 
Where  summer  on  her  shelly  shore 
Sits  down  and  rests  for  evermore. 

And  one  who  watch'd  her  wasted  youth 
Did  guess,  mayhap  with  much  of  truth, 
Her  heart  was  with  that  band  that  came 
Against  her  isle  with  sword  and  flame : 
And  this  the  tale  he  told  of  her 
And  her  fierce,  silent  follower : 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  53 

A  Spaniard  and  adventurer, 
A  man  who  saw  her,  loved,  and  fell 
Upon  his  knees  and  worshipp'd  her  ; 
And  with  that  fervor  and  mad  zeal 
That  only  sunborn  bosoms  feel, 
Did  vow  to  love,  to  follow  her 
Unto  the  altar  ...  or  to  hell : 

That  then  her  gray-hair'd  father  bore 
The  beauteous  maiden  hurriedly 
From  out  her  fair  isle  of  the  sea 
To  sombre  wold  and  woody  shore 
And  far  away,  and  kept  her  well, 
As  from  a  habitant  of  hell, 
And  vow'd  she  should  not  meet  him  more : 
That  fearing  still  the  buccaneer, 
He  silent  kept  his  forests  here. 
The  while  men  came,  and  still  she  stood 
For  ever  watching  from  the  wood. 


54  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


THE  black-eyed  bushy  squirrels  ran 
Like  shadows  shatter'd  through  the  boughs ; 
The  gallant  robin  chirp'd  his  vows, 
The  far-off  pheasant  thrumm'd  his  fan, 
A  thousand  blackbirds  were  a-wing 
In  walnut-top,  and  it  was  spring. 

Old  Morgan  left  his  cabin  door, 
And  one  sat  watching  as  of  yore  ;> 
But  why  turned  Morgan's  face  as  white 
As  his  white  beard  ? 

A  bird  aflight, 

A  squirrel  peering  through  the  trees, 
Saw  some  one  silent  steal  away 
Like  darkness  from  the  face  of  day, 
Saw  two  black  eyes  look  back,  and  these 
Saw  her  hand  beckon  through  the  trees. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  55 

He  knew  him,  though  he  had  not  seen 
That  form  or  face  for  a  decade, 
Though  time  had  shorn  his  locks,  had  made 
His  form  another's,  flow'd  between 
Their  lives  like  some  uncompass'd  sea, 
Yet  still  he  knew  him  as  before. 
He  pursed  his  lips,  and  silently 
He  turn'd  and  sought  his  cabin's  door. 

Ay  !  they  have  come,  the  sun-brown'd  men, 
To  beard  old  Morgan  in  his  den. 
It  matters  little  who  they  are, 
These  silent  men  from  isles  afar, 
And  truly  no  one  cares  or  knows 
What  be  their  merit  or  demand  ; 
It  is  enough  for  this  rude  land  — 
At  least,  it  is  enough  for  those, 
The  loud  of  tongue  and  rude  of  hand  — 
To  know  that  they  are  Morgan's  foes. 


$6  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Proud  Morgan  !     More  than  tongue  can  tell 
He  loved  that  woman  watching  there, 
That  stood  in  her  dark  stream  of  hair,     * 
That  stood  and  dream'd  as  in  a  spell, 
And  look'd  so  fix'd  and  far  away. 
And  who,  that  loveth  woman  well, 
Is  wholly  bad  ?  be  who  he  may. 

Ay !  we  have  seen  these  Southern  men, 
These  sun-brown'd  men  from  island  shore, 
In  this  same  land,  and  long  before. 
They  do  not  seem  so  lithe  as  then, 
They  do  not  look  so  tall,  and  they 
Seem  not  so  many  as  of  old. 
But  that  same  resolute  and  bold 
Expression  of  unbridled  will, 
That  even  Time  must  half  obey, 
Is  with  them  and  is  of  them  still. 

They  do  not  counsel  the  decree 

Of  court  or  council,  where  they  drew 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  57 

Their  breath,  nor  law  nor  order  knew, 
Save  but  the  strong  hand  of  the  strong  ; 
Where  each  stood  up,  avenged  his  wrong, 
Or  sought  his  death  all  silently. 

They  watch  along  the  wave  and  wood, 
They  heed,  but  haste  not.     Their  estate, 
Whate'er  it  be,  can  bide  and  wait, 
Be  it  open  ill  or  hidden  good. 

No  law  for  them  I     For  they  have  stood 
With  steel,  and  writ  their  rights  in  blood  ; 
And  now,  whatever  'tis  they  seek, 
Whatever  be  their  dark  demand, 
Why,  they  will  make  it,  hand  to  hand, 
Take  time  and  patience  :  Greek  to  Greek. 


3* 


58  THE  SHIP   IN  THE  DESERT. 


XL 


LIKE  blown  and  snowy  wintry  pine, 
Old  Morgan  stoop'd  his  head  and  pass'd 
Within  his  cabin  door.     He  cast 
A  great  arm  out  to  men,  made  sign, 
Then  turned  to  Ina ;  stood  beside 
A  time,  then  turn'd  and  strode  the  floor, 
Stopp'd  short,  breathed  sharp,  threw  wide  the 

door, 

Then  gazed  beyond  the  murky  tide, 
Toward  where  the  forky  peaks  divide. 

He  took  his  beard  in  his  hard  hand, 
Then  slowly  shook  his  grizzled  head 
And  trembled,  but  no  word  he  said. 
His  thought  was  something  more  than  pain  ; 
Upon  the  seas,  upon  the  land 
He  knew  he  should  not  rest  again. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  59 

He  turn'd  to  her ;  but  then  once  more 
Quick  turn'd,  and  through  the  oaken  door 
He  sudden  pointed  to  the  west. 
His  eye  resumed  its  old  command, 
The  conversation  of  his  hand, 
It  was  enough  :  she  knew  the  rest. 

He  turn'd,  he  stoop'd,  and  smoothed  her 

hair, 

As  if  to  smooth  away  the  care 
From  his  great  heart,  with  his  left  hand. 
His  right  hand  hitch' d  the  pistol  round 
That  dangled  at  his  belt  .  .  . 

The  sound 

Of  steel  to  him  was  melody 
More  sweet  than  any  song  of  sea. 

He  touch'd  his  pistol,  press'd  his  lips, 
Then  tapp'd  it  with  his  finger-tips, 
And  toy'd  with  it  as  harper's  hand 


60  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Seeks  out  the  chords  when  he  is  sad 
And  purposeless. 

At  last  he  had 

Resolved.     In  haste  he  touch'd  her  hair, 
Made  sign  she  should  arise  —  prepare 
For  some  long  journey,  then  again 
He  look'd  awest  toward  the  plain : 

Toward  the  land  of  dreams  and  space, 
The  land  of  Silences,  the  land 
Of  shoreless  deserts  sown  with  sand, 
Where  desolation's  dwelling  is  : 
The  land  where,  wondering,  you  say, 
What  dried-up  shoreless  sea  is  this  ? 
Where,  wandering,  from  day  to  day 
You  say,  To-morrow  sure  we  come 
To  rest  in  some  cool  resting-place, 
And  yet  you  journey  on  through  space 
While  seasons  pass,  and  are  struck  dumb 
With  marvel  at  the  distances. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  61 

Yea,  he  would  go.     Go  utterly 
Away,  and  from  all  living  kind, 
Pierce  through  the  distances,  and  find 
New  lands.     He  had  outlived  his  race. 
He  stood  like  some  eternal  tree 
That  tops  remote  Yosemite, 
And  cannot  fall.     He  turn'd  his  face 
Again  and  contemplated  space. 

And  then  he  raised  his  hand  to  vex 
His  beard,  stood  still,  and  there  fell  down 
Great  drops  from  some  unfrequent  spring, 
And  streak'd   his   channell'd   cheeks   sun- 
brown, 

And  ran  uncheck'd,  as  one  who  recks 
Nor  joy,  nor  tears,  nor  any  thing. 

And  then,  his  broad  breast  heaving  deep, 
Like  some  dark  sea  in  troubled  sleep, 
Blown  round  with  groaning  ships  and  wrecks, 


62  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

He  sudden  roused  himself,  and  stood 
With  all  the  strength  of  his  stern  mood, 
Then  calTd  his  men,  and  bade  them  go 
And  bring  black  steeds  with  banner'd  necks, 
And  strong  like  burly  buffalo. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  63 


XII. 

THE  sassafras  took  leaf,  and  men 
Push'd  west  in  hosts.     The  black  men  drew 
Their  black-maned  horses  silent  through 
The  solemn  woods. 

One  midnight  when 

The  curl'd  moon  tipp'd  her  horn,  and  threw 
A  black  oak's  shadow  slant  across 
A  low  mound  hid  in  leaves  and  moss, 
Old  Morgan  cautious  came  and  drew 
From  out  the  ground,  as  from  a  grave, 
A  great  box,  iron-bound  and  old, 
And  fill'd,  men  say,  with  pirates'  gold, 
And  then  they,  silent  as  a  dream, 
In  long  black  shadows  cross'd  the  stream. 

Lo  !  here  the  smoke  of  cabins  curl'd, 
The  borders  of  the  middle  world ; 


64  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

And  mighty,  hairy,  half-wild  men 
Sat  down  in  silence,  held  at  bay 
By  mailed  forests.     Far  away 
The  red  men's  boundless  borders  lay, 
And  lodges  stood  in  legions  then, 
Strip'd  pyramids  of  painted  men 

What  strong  uncommon  men  were  these, 
These  settlers  hewing  to  the  seas  ! 
Great  horny-handed  men  and  tan ; 
Men  blown  from  any  border  land  ; 
Men  desperate  and  red  of  hand, 
And  men  in  love  and  men  in  debt, 
And  men  who  lived  but  to  forget, 
And  men  whose  very  hearts  had  died, 
Who  only  sought  these  woods  to  hide 
Their  wretchedness,  held  in  the  van  ; 
Yet  every  man  among  them  stood 
Alone,  along  that  sounding  wood, 
And  every  man  somehow  a  man. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  65 

A  race  of  unnamed  giants  these, 
That  moved  like  gods  among  the  trees, 
So  stern,  so  stubborn-brow'd  and  slow, 
With  strength  of  black-maned  buffalo, 
And  each  man  notable  and  tall, 
A  kingly  and  unconscious  Saul, 
A  sort  of  sullen  Hercules. 

A  star  stood  large  and  white  awest, 
Then  Time  uprose  and  testified  ; 
They  push'd  the  mailed  wood  aside, 
They  toss'd  the  forest  like  a  toy, 
That  great  forgotten  race  of  men, 
The  boldest  band  that  yejb  has  been 
Together  since  the  siege  of  Troy, 
And  followed  it  ....  and  found  their  rest. 

What  strength !  what  strife  !  what  rude 

unrest ! 
What  shocks !  what  half-shaped  armies  met  I 


66  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

A  mighty  nation  moving  west, 
With  all  its  steely  sinews  set 
Against  the  living  forests.     Hear 
The  shouts,  the  shots  of  pioneer  I 
The  rended  forests,  rolling  wheels, 
As  if  some  half-check'd  army  reels, 
Recoils,  redoubles,  comes  again, 
Loud  sounding  like  a  hurricane. 

O  bearded,  stalwart,  westmost  men, 
So  tower-like,  so  Gothic-built ! 
A  kingdom  won  without  the  guilt 
Of  studied  battle  ;  that  hath  been 
Your  blood's  inheritance  .... 

Your  heirs 

Know  not  your  tombs.     The  great  ploughshares 
Cleave  softly  through  the  mellow  loam 
Where  you  have  made  eternal  home 
And  set  no  sign. 

Your  epitaphs 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.  67 

Are  writ  in  furrows.     Beauty  laughs 
While  through  the  green  ways  wandering 
Beside  her  love,  slow  gathering 
White  starry-hearted  May-time  blooms 
Above  your  lowly  levell'd  tombs  ; 
And  then  below  the  spotted  sky 
She  stops,  she  leans,  she  wonders  why 
The  ground  is  heaved  and  broken  so, 
And  why  the  grasses  darker  grow 
And  droop  and  trail  like  wounded  wing. 

Yea,  Time,  the  grand  old  harvester, 
Has  gather'd  you  from  wood  and  plain. 
We  call  to  you  again,  again  ; 
The  rush  and  rumble  of  the  car 
Comes  back  in  answer.     Deep  and  wide 
The  wheels  of  progress  have  pass'd  on ; 
The  silent  pioneer  is  gone. 
His  ghost  is  moving  down  the  trees, 
And  now  we  push  the  memories 


68  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Of  bluff,  bold  men  who  dared  and  died 
In  foremost  battle,  quite  aside. 

• 

O  perfect  Eden  of  the  earth, 
In  poppies  sown,  in  harvest  set ! 
O  sires,  mothers  of  my  West ! 
How  shall  we  count  your  proud  bequest  ? 
But  yesterday  ye  gave  us  birth ; 
We  eat  your  hard-earn'd  bread  to-day, 
Nor  toil  nor  spin  nor  make  regret, 
But  praise  our  petty  selves  and  say 
How  great  we  are,  and  all  forget 
The  still  endurance  of  the  rude 
Unpolish'd  sons  of  solitude. 


rHE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  69 


XIII. 

AND  one  was  glad  at  morn,  but  one, 
The  tall  old  sea-king,  grim  and  gray, 
Look'd  back  to  where  his  cabins  lay 
And  seem'd  to  hesitate. 

He  rose 

At  last,  as  from  his  dream's  repose, 
From  rest  that  counterfeited  rest, 
And  set  his  blown  beard  to  the  west, 
And  drove  against  the  setting  sun, 
Along  the  levels  vast  and  dun. 

His  steeds  were  steady,  strong,  and  fleet, 
The  best  in  all  the  wide  west  land, 
Their  manes  were  in  the  air,  their  feet 
Seem'd  scarce  to  touch  the  flying  sand ; 
The  reins  were  in  the  reaching  hand. 


70  THE   SHIP  IN   THE   DESERT. 

They  rode  like  men  gone  mad,  they  fled, 
All  day  and  many  days  they  ran, 
And  in  the  rear  a  gray  old  man 
Kept  watch,  and  ever  turn'd  his  head, 
Half  eager  and  half  angry,  back 
Along  their  dusty  desert  track. 

And  one  look'd  back,  but  no  man  spoke, 
They  rode,  they  swallow'd  up  the  plain ; 
The  sun  sank  low,  he  look'd  again, 
With  lifted  hand  and  shaded  eyes. 
Then  far  arear  he  saw  uprise, 
As  if  from  giant's  stride  or  stroke, 
Dun  dust-like  puffs  of  battle-smoke. 

He  turn'd,  his  left  hand  clutch'd  the  rein, 
He  struck  awest  his  high  right  hand, 
His  arms  were  like  the  limbs  of  oak, 
They  knew  too  well  the  man's  command, 
They  mounted,  plunged  ahead  again, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  71 

And  one  look'd  back,  but  no  man  spoke, 

Of  all  that  sullen  iron  band, 

That  reached  along  that  barren  land. 

O  weary  days  of  weary  blue, 
Without  one  changing  breath,  without 
One  single  cloud-ship  sailing  through 
The  blue  seas  bending  round  about 
In  one  unbroken  blotless  hue. 
Yet  on  they  fled,  and  one  look'd  back 
For  ever  down  their  distant  track. 

The  tent  is  pitch'd,  the  blanket  spread, 
The  earth  receives  the  weary  head, 
The  night  rolls  west,  the  east  is  gray, 
The  tent  is  struck,  they  mount,  away ; 
They  ride  for  life  the  livelong  day, 
They  sweep  the  long  grass  in  their  track, 
And  one  leads  on,  and  one  looks  back. 


72  THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

What  scenes  they  pass'd,  what  camps  at 

morn, 

What  weary  columns  kept  the  road ; 
What  herds  of  troubled  cattle  low'd, 
And  trumpeted  like  lifted  horn  ; 
And  everywhere,  or  road  or  rest, 
All  things  were  pointing  to  the  west ; 
A  weary,  long,  and  lonesome  track, 
And  all  led  on,  but  one  look'd  back. 

They  climb'd  the  rock-built  breasts  of  earth, 
The  Titan-fronted,  blowy  steeps 
That  cradled  Time  .  .  .  Where  Freedom  keeps 
Her  flag  of  white  blown  stars  unfurl'd, 
They  turn'd  about,  they  saw  the  birth 
Of  sudden  dawn  upon  the  world ; 
Again  they  gazed ;  they  saw  the  face 
Of  God,  and  named  it  boundless  space. 

And  they  descended  and  did  roam 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  73 

Through  levell'd  distances  set  round 

By  room.     They  saw  the  Silences 

Move  by  and  beckon  :  saw  the  forms, 

The  very  beards,  of  burly  storms, 

And  heard  them  talk  like  sounding  seas. 

On  unnamed  heights  bleak-blown  and  brown, 

And  torn  like  battlements  of  Mars, 

They  saw  the  darknesses  come  down, 

Like  curtains  loosen'd  from  the  dome 

Of  God's  cathedral,  built  of  stars. 

They  pitch'd  the  tent,  where  rivers  run 
As  if  to  drown  the  falling  sun. 
They  saw  the  snowy  mountains  roll'd, 
And  heaved  along  the  nameless  lands 
Like  mighty  billows ;  saw  the  gold 
Of  awful  sunsets ;  saw  the  blush 
Of  sudden  dawn,  and  felt  the  hush 
Of  heaven  when  the  day  sat  down, 
And  hid  his  face  in  dusky  hands. 

4 


74  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

The  long  and  lonesome  nights  !  the  tent 
That  nestled  soft  in  sweep  of  grass, 
The  hills  against  the  firmament 
Where  scarce  the  moving  moon  could  pass ; 
The  cautious  camp,  the  smother'd  light, 
The  silent  sentinel  at  night ! 

The  wild  beasts  howling  from  the  hill ; 
The  troubled  cattle  bellowing ; 
The  savage  prowling  by  the  spring, 
Then  sudden  passing  swift  and  still, 
And  bended  as  a  bow  is  bent. 
The  arrow  sent ;  the  arrow  spent 
And  buried  in  its  bloody  place, 
The  dead  man  lying  on  his  face  I 

The  clouds  of  dust,  their  cloud  by  day ; 
Their  pillar  of  unfailing  fire 
The  far  North   star.      And  high,  and 
higher  .  .  . 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  75 

They  climb'd  so  high  it  seem'd  eftsoon 
That  they  must  face  the  falling  moon, 
That  like  some  flame-lit  ruin  lay 
Thrown  down  before  their  weary  way. 

They  learn'd  to  read  the  sign  of  storms, 
The  moon's  wide  circles,  sunset  bars, 
And  storm-provoking  blood  and  flame  ; 
And,  like  the  Chaldean  shepherds,  came 
At  night  to  name  the  moving  stars. 
In  heaven's  face  they  pictured  forms 
Of  beasts,  of  fishes  of  the  sea. 
They  mark'd  the  Great  Bear  wearily 
Rise  up  and  drag  his  clinking  chain 
Of  stars  around  the  starry  main. 

What  lines  of  yoked  and  patient  steers  ! 
What  weary  thousands  pushing  west ! 
What  restless  pilgrims  seeking  rest, 
As  if  from  out  the  edge  of  years  I 


76  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

What  great  yoked  brutes  with  briskets  low, 
With  wrinkled  necks  like  buffalo, 
"With  round,  brown,  liquid,  pleading  eyes, 
That  turn'd  so  slow  and  sad  to  you, 
That  shone  like  love's  eyes  soft  with  tears, 
That  seera'd  to  plead,  and  make  replies 
The  while  they  bow'd  their  necks  and  drew 
The  creaking  load  ;  and  look'd  at  you. 
Their  sable  briskets  swept  the  ground, 
Their  cloven  feet  kept  solemn  sound. 

Two  sullen  bullocks  led  the  line, 
Their  great  eyes  shining  bright  like  wine  ; 
Two  sullen  captive  kings  were  they, 
That  had  in  time  held  herds  at  bay, 
And  even  now  they  crush'd  the  sod 
With  stolid  sense  of  majesty, 
And  stately  stepp'd  and  stately  trod, 
As  if  'twas  something  still  to  be 
Kings  even  in  captivity. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  77 

XIV. 

AND  why  did  these  same  sunburnt  men 
Let  Morgan  gain  the  plain,  and  then 
Pursue  him  to  the  utter  sea  ? 
You  ask  me  here  impatiently. 
And  I  as  pertly  must  reply, 
My  task  is  but  to  tell  a  tale, 
To  give  a  wide  sail  to  the  gale, 
To  paint  the  boundless  plain,  the  sky ; 
To  rhyme,  nor  give  a  reason  why. 

Mostlike  they  sought  his  gold  alone, 
And  fear'd  to  make  their  quarrel  known 
Lest  it  should  keep  its  secret  bed ; 
Mostlike  they  thought  to  best  prevail 
And  conquer  with  united  hands 
Alone  upon  the  lonesome  sands ; 
Mostlike  they  had  as  much  to  dread ; 
Mostlike  —  but  I  must  tell  my  tale. 


78  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

And  Morgan,  ever  looking  back, 
Push'd  on,  push'd  up  his  mountain  track, 
Past  camp,  past  train,  past  caravan, 
Past  flying  beast,  past  failing  man, 
Past  brave  men  battling  with  a  foe 
That  circled  them  with  lance  and  bow 
And  feather'd  arrows  all  a- wing ; 
Till  months  unmeasured  came  and  ran 
The  calendar  with  him,  as  though 
Old  Time  had  lost  all  reckoning ; 
Then  passed  for  aye  the  creaking  trains, 
And  pioneers  that  named  the  plains. 

Those  brave  old  bricks  of  Forty-nine ! 
What  lives  they  lived !    what  deaths   they 

died! 

A  thousand  canons,  darkling  wide 
Below  Sierra's  slopes  of  pine, 
Receive  them  now. 

And  they  who  died 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  79 

Along  the  far,  dim,  desert  route. 
Their  ghosts  are  many. 

Let  them  keep 
Their  vast  possessions. 

The  Piute, 

The  tawny  warrior,  will  dispute 
No  boundary  with  these.     And  I, 
Who  saw  them  live,  who  felt  them  die, 
Say,  let  their  unploughed  ashes  sleep, 
Untouched  by  man,  by  plain  or  steep. 

The  bearded,  sunbrown'd  men  who  bore 
The  burthen  of  that  frightful  year, 
Who  toil'd,  but  did  not  gather  store, 
They  shall  not  be  forgotten. 

Drear 

And  white,  the  plains  of  Shoshonee 
Shall  point  us  to  that  farther  shore, 
And  long  white  sinning  lines  of  bones, 
Make  needless  sign  or  white  mile-stones. 


8o  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

The  wild  man's  yell,  the  groaning  wheel ; 
The  train  that  moved  like  drifting  barge  ; 
The  dust  that  rose  up  like  a  cloud, 
Like  smoke  of  distant  battle  !     Loud 
The  great  whips  rang  like  shot,  and  steel 
Of  antique  fashion,  crude  and  large, 
Flash'd  back  as  in  some  battle  charge. 

They  sought,  yea,  they  did  find  their  rest 
Along  that  long  and  lonesome  way, 
These  brave  men  buffeting  the  West 
With  lifted  faces. 

Full  were  they 

Of  great  endeavor.     Brave  and  true 
As  stern  Crusader  clad  in  steel, 
They  died  a-field  as  it  was  fit. 
Made  strong  with  hope,  they  dared  to  do 
Achievement  that  a  host  to-day 
Would  stagger  at,  stand  back  and  reel, 
Defeated  at  the  thought  of  it. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  81 

What  brave  endeavor  to  endure  ! 
What  patient  hope,  when  hope  was  past ! 
What  still  surrender  at  the  last, 
A  thousand  leagues  from  hope  !  how  pure 
They  lived,  how  proud  they  died ! 
How  generous  with  life  ! 

The  wide 

And  gloried  age  of  chivalry 
Hath  not  one  page  like  this  to  me. 

Let  all  these  golden  days  go  by, 
In  sunny  summer  weather.     I 
But  think  upon  my  buried  brave, 
And  breathe  beneath  another  sky. 
Let  beauty  glide  in  gilded  car, 
And  find  my  sundown  seas  afar, 
Forgetful  that  'tis  but  one  grave 
From  eastmost  to  the  westmost  wave. 

Yea,  I  remember  I     The  still  tears 

4*  F 


8a  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

That  o'er  uncoffin'd  faces  fell ! 
The  final,  silent,  sad  farewell ! 
God !  these  are  with  me  all  the  years  I 
They  shall  be  with  me  ever.     I 
Shall  not  forget.     I  hold  a  trust. 
They  are  a  part  of  my  existence. 

When 

Adown  the  shining  iron  track 
You  sweep,  and  fields  of  corn  flash  back, 
And  herds  of  lowing  steers  move  by, 
And  men  laugh  loud,  in  mute  distrust, 
I  turn  to  other  days,  to  men 
Who  made  a  pathway  with  their  dust. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  83 


XV. 

AT  last  he  pass'd  all  men  or  sign 
Of  man.     Yet  still  his  long  black  line 
Was  push'd  and  pointed  for  the  west ; 
The  sea,  the  utmost  sea,  and  rest. 

He  climbed,  descended,  climbed  again, 
Until  he  stood  at  last  as  lone, 
As  solitary  and  unknown, 
As  some  lost  ship  upon  the  main. 

O  there  was  grandeur  in  his  air, 
An  old-time  splendor  in  his  eye, 
When  he  had  climb'd  the  bleak,  the  high, 
The  rock-built  bastions  of  the  plain, 
And  thrown  a-back  his  blown  white  hair, 
And  halting  turn'd  to  look  again. 


84  THE  SHIP  JN  THE  DESERT. 

And  long,  from  out  his  lofty  place, 
He  look'd  far  down  the  fading  plain 
For  his  pursuers,  but  in  vain. 
Yea,  he  was  glad.     Across  his  face 
A  careless  smile  was  seen  to  play, 
The  first  for  many  a  stormy  day. 

He  turn'd  to  Ina,  dark  and  fair 
As  some  sad  twilight ;  touch'd  her  hair, 
Stoop'd  low,  and  kiss'd  her  silently, 
Then  silent  held  her  to  his  breast. 
Then  waved  command  to  his  black  men, 
Look'd  east,  then  mounted  slow,  and  then 
Led  leisurely  against  the  west. 

And  why  should  he,  who  dared  to  die, 
Who  more  than  once  with  hissing  breath 
Had  set  his  teeth  and  pray'd  for  death, 
Have  fled  these  men,  or  wherefore  fly 
Before  them  now  ?  why  not  defy  ? 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  85 

His  midnight  men  were  strong  and  true, 
And  not  unused  to  strife,  and  knew 
The  masonry  of  steel  right  well, 
And  all  its  signs  that  lead  to  hell. 

It  might  have  been  his  youth  had  wrought 
Some  wrong  his  years  would  now  repair 
That  made  him  fly  and  still  forbear ; 
It  might  have  been  he  only  sought 
To  lead  them  to  some  fatal  snare 
And  let  them  die  by  piece-meal  there. 

It  might  have  been  that  his  own  blood, 
A  brother,  son,  pursued  with  curse. 
It  might  have  been  this  woman  fair 
Was  this  man's  child,  an  only  thing 
To  love  in  all  the  universe, 
And  that  the  old  man's  iron  will 
Kept  pirate's  child  from  pirate  still. 
These  rovers  had  a  world  their  own, 
Had  laws,  lived  lives,  went  ways  unknown. 


86  THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

I  trow  it  was  not  shame  or  fear 
Of  any  man  or  any  thing 
That  death  in  any  shape  might  bring. 
It  might  have  been  some  lofty  sense 
Of  his  own  truth  and  innocence, 
And  virtues  lofty  and  severe  — 
Nay,  nay !  what  need  of  reasons  here  ? 

They  touch'd  a  fringe  of  tossing  trees 
That  bound  a  mountain's  brow  like  bay, 
And  through  the  fragrant  boughs  a  breeze 
Blew  salt-flood  freshness. 

Far  away, 

From  mountain  brow  to  desert  base 
Lay  chaos,  space,  unbounded  space, 
In  one  vast  belt  of  purple  bound. 
The  black  men  cried,   "The  sea!"     They 

bow'd 

Their  black  heads  in  their  hard  black  hands. 
They  wept  for  joy. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.  87 

They  laugh'd,  and  broke 
The  silence  of  an  age,  and  spoke 
Of  rest  at  last ;  and,  group'd  in  bands, 
They  threw  their  long  black  arms  about 
Each  other's  necks,  and  laugh'd  aloud, 
Then  wept  again  with  laugh  and  shout. 

Yet  Morgan  spake  no  word,  but  led 
His  band  with  oft-averted  head 
Right  through  the  cooling  trees,  till  he 
Stood  out  upon  the  lofty  brow 
And  mighty  mountain  wall. 

And  now 

The  men  who  shouted,  "  Lo,  the  sea  I " 
Rode  in  the  sun ;  but  silently : 
Stood  in  the  sun,  then  look'd  below. 
They  look'd  but  once,  then  look'd  away, 
Then  look'd  each  other  in  the  face. 
They  could  not  lift  their  brows,  nor  say, 
But  held  their  heads,  nor  spake,  for  lo  ! 


88  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Nor  sea,  nor  voice  of  sea,  nor  breath 
Of  sea,  but  only  sand  and  death, 
And  one  eternity  of  space 
Confronted  them  with  fiery  face. 

'Twas  vastness  even  as  a  sea, 
So  still  it  sang  in  symphonies  ; 
But  yet  without  the  sense  of  seas, 
Save  depth,  and  space,  and  distances. 
'Twas  all  so  shoreless,  so  profound, 
It  seem'd  it  were  earth's  utter  bound. 
'Twas  like  the  dim  edge  of  death  is, 
'Twas  hades,  hell,  eternity  I 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.  89 


XVI. 

THEN  Morgan  hesitating  stood, 
Look'd  down  the  deep  and  steep  descent 
With  wilder'd  brow  and  wonderment, 
Then  gazed  against  the  cooling  wood. 

And  she  beside  him  gazed  at  this, 
Then  tum'd  her  great,  sad  eyes  to  his  ; 
He  shook  his  head  and  look'd  away, 
Then  sadly  smiled,  and  still  did  say, 
"  To-morrow,  child,  another  day." 

O  thou  to-morrow !     Mystery  I 
O  day  that  ever  runs  before  ! 
What  has  thine  hidden  hand  in  store 
For  mine,  to-morrow,  and  for  me  ? 
O  thou  to-morrow  !  what  hast  thou 
In  store  to  make  me  bear  the  now  ? 


90  THE   SHIP   IN   THE   DESERT. 

O  day  in  which  we  shall  forget 
The  tangled  troubles  of  to-day  I 
O  day  that  laughs  at  duns,  at  debt ! 
O  day  of  promises  to  pay  ! 
O  shelter  from  all  present  storm  ! 
O  day  in  which  we  shall  reform ! 

O  day  of  all  days  for  reform  ! 
Convenient  day  of  promises  I 
Hold  back  the  shadow  of  the  storm. 
O  bless'd  to-morrow !     Chiefest  friend, 
Let  not  thy  mystery  be  less, 
But  lead  us  blindfold  to  the  end. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  91 


XVII. 

OLD  Morgan  eyed  his  men,  look'd  back 
Against  the  groves  of  tamarack, 
Then  tapp'd  his  stirrup-foot,  and  stray'd 
His  hard  left  hand  along  the  mane 
Of  his  strong  steed,  and  careless  play'd 
His  fingers  through  the  silken  skein, 
And  seemed  a  time  to  touch  the  rein. 

And  then  he  spurr'd  him  to  her  side, 
And  reach'd  his  hand  and,  leaning  wide, 
He  smiling  push'd  her  falling  hair 
Back  from  her  brow,  and  kiss'd  her  there. 

Yea,  touch'd  her  softly,  as  if  she 
Had  been  some  priceless,  tender  flower, 


92  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Yet  touch'd  her  as  one  taking  leave 
Of  his  one  love  in  lofty  tower 
Before  descending  to  the  sea 
Of  battle  011  his  battle  eve. 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  93 


XVIII. 

A  DISTANT  shout !  quick  oaths  !  alarms  ! 
The  black  men  start  up  suddenly, 
Stand  in  the  stirrup,  clutch  their  arms, 
And  bare  bright  arms  all  instantly. 

But  he,  he  slowly  turns,  and  he 
Looks  all  his  full  soul  in  her  face. 
He  does  not  shout,  he  does  not  say, 
But  sits  serenely  in  his  place 
A  time,  then  slowly  turns,  looks  back 
Between  the  triin-bough'd  tamarack, 
And  up  the  winding  mountain  way, 
To  where  the  long  strong  grasses  lay. 

He  raised  his  glass  in  his  two  hands, 
Then  in  his  left  hand  let  it  fall, 


94  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Then  seem'd  to  count  his  fingers  o'er, 

Then  reach'd  his  glass,  waved  cold  commands, 

Then  tapp'd  his  stirrup  as  before, 

Stood  in  the  stirrup  stern  and  tall, 

Then  ran  his  hand  along  the  mane 

Half  nervous-like,  and  that  was  all. 

His  head  half  settled  on  his  breast, 
His  face  a-beard  like  bird  a-nest, 
And  then  he  roused  himself,  he  spoke, 
He  reach'd  an  arm  like  arm  of  oak, 
He  struck  a-west  his  great  broad  hand, 
And  seem'd  to  hurl  his  hot  command. 

He  clutch'd  his  rein,  struck  sharp  his  heel, 
Look'd  at  his  men,  and  smiled  half  sad, 
Half  desperate,  then  hitch'd  his  steel, 
And  all  his  stormy  presence  had, 
As  if  he  kept  once  more  his  keel 
On  listless  seas  where  breakers  reel. 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  95 

He  toss'd  again  his  iron  hand 
Above  the  deep,  steep  desert  space, 
Above  the  burning  seas  of  sand, 
And  look'd  his  black  men  in  the  face. 

They  spake  not,  nor  look'd  back  again, 
They  struck  the  heel,  they  clutch'd  the  rein, 
And  down  the  darkling  plunging  steep 
They  dropped  toward  the  dried-up  deep. 

Below  !     It  seem'd  a  league  below, 
The  black  men  rode,  and  she  rode  well, 
Against  the  gleaming  sheening  haze 
That  shone  like  some  vast  sea  ablaze, 
That  seem'd  to  gleam,  to  glint,  to  glow 
As  if  it  mark'd  the  shores  of  hell. 

Then  Morgan  stood  alone,  look'd  back 
From  off  the  fierce  wall  where  he  stood, 
And  watch'd  his  dusk  approaching  foe. 


96  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

He  saw  him  creep  along  his  track, 
Saw  him  descending  from  the  wood, 
And  smiled  to  see  how  worn  and  slow. 

Then  when  his  foemen  hounding  came 
In  pistol-shot  of  where  he  stood, 
He  wound  his  hand  in  his  steed's  mane, 
And  plunging  to  the  desert  plain, 
Threw  back  his  white  beard  like  a  cloud, 
And  looking  back  did  shout  aloud 
Defiance  like  a  stormy  flood, 
And  shouted,  "  Vasques !  "  called  his  name, 
And  dared  him  to  the  desert  flame. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  97 


XIX. 

A  CLOUD  of  dust  adown  the  steep, 
Where  scarce  a  whirling  hawk  would  sweep, 
The  cloud  his  foes  had  follow'd  fast, 
And  Morgan  like  a  cloud  had  pass'd, 
Yet  passed  like  some  proud  king  of  old ; 
And  now  mad  Vasques  could  not  hold 
Control  of  his  one  wild  desire 
To  meet  old  Morgan,  in  his  ire. 

He  cursed  aloud,  he  shook  his  rein 
Above  the  desert  darkling  deep, 
And  urged  his  steed  toward  the  steep, 
Bat  urged  his  weary  steed  in  vain. 

Old  Morgan  heard  his  oath  and  shout, 
And  Morgan  turn'd  his  head  once  more, 
r>  G 


98  THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

And  wheel'd  his  stout  steed  short  about, 
Then-  seem'd  to  count  their  numbers  o'er. 

And    then    his  right    hand    touch'd    his 

steel, 

And  then  he  tapp'd  his  iron  heel 
And  seem'd  to  fight  with  thought. 

At  last, 

As  if  the  final  die  was  cast, 
And  cast  as  carelessly  as  one 
Would  toss  a  white  coin  in  the  sun, 
He  touch'd  his  rein  once  more,  and  then 
His  pistol  laid  with  idle  heed 
Prone  down  the  toss'd  mane  of  his  steed, 
And  he  rode  down  the  rugged  way 
Tow'rd  where  the  wide,  white  desert  lay, 
By  broken  gorge  and  cavern'd  den, 
And  join'd  his  band  of  midnight  men. 

Some  say  the  gray  old  man  had  crazed 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  99 

From  mountain  fruits  that  he  had  pluck'd 
While  winding  through  the  wooded  ways 
Above  the  steep. 

But  others  say 

That  he  had  turn'd  aside  and  suck'd 
Sweet  poison  from  the  honey  dews 
That  lie  like  manna  all  the  day 
On  dewy  leaves  so  crystal  fair 
And  temptingly  that  none  refuse  ; 
That  thus  made  mad  the  man  did  dare 
Confront  the  desert  and  despair. 

Then  other  mountain  men  explain, 
That  when  one  looks  upon  this  sea 
Of  glowing  sand,  he  looks  again, 
Again,  through  gossamers  that  run 

^ 

In  scintillations  of  the  sun 
Along  this  white  eternity, 
And  looks  until  the  brain  is  dazed, 
Bewilder'd,  and  the  man  is  crazed. 


ioo          THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Then  one,  a  grizzled  mountaineer, 
A  thin  and  sinewy  old  man, 
With  face  all  wrinkle- wrought,  and  tan, 
And  presence  silent  and  austere, 
Does  tell  a  tale,  with  reaching  face 
And  bated  breath,  of  this  weird  place, 
Of  many  a  stalwart  mountaineer 
And  Piute  tall  who  perish'd  here. 

He  tells  a  tale  with  whisper'd  breath 
Of  skin-clad  men  who  track'd  this  shore, 
Once  populous  with  sea-set  town, 
And  saw  a  woman  wondrous  fair, 
And,  wooing,  follow'd  her  far  down 
Through  burning  sands  to  certain  death ; 
And  then  he  catches  short  his  breath. 

He  tells :  Nay,  this  is  all  too  long  ; 
Enough.     The  old  man  shakes  his  hair 
When  he  is  done,  and  shuts  his  eyes, 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          101 

So  satisfied  and  so  self- wise, 

As  if  to  say,  "  "Pis  nothing  rare, 

This  following  the  luring  fair 

To  death,  and  bound  in  thorny  thong  ; 

'Twas  ever  thus;  the  old,  old  song." 


102  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


XX. 

Go  ye  and  look  upon  that  land, 
That  far  vast  land  that  few  behold, 
And  none  beholding  understand,  — 
That  old,  old  land  which  men  call  new, 
That  land  as  old  as  time  is  old ;  — 
Go  journey  with  the  seasons  through 
Its  wastes,  and  learn  how  limitless, 
How  shoreless  lie  the  distances, 
Before  you  come  to  question  this 
Or  dare  to  dream  what  grandeur  is. 

The  solemn  silence  of  that  plain, 
Where  unmanned  tempests  ride  and  reign, 
It  awes  and  it  possesses  you. 
'Tis,  oh  I  so  eloquent. 

The  blue 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          103 

And  bended  skies  seem  built  for  it, 

With  rounded  roof  all  fashioned  fit, 

And  frescoed  clouds,  quaint-wrought  and  true  ; 

While  all  else  seems  so  far,  so  vain, 

An  idle  tale  but  illy  told, 

Before  this  land  so  lone  and  old. 

Its  story  is  of  God  alone, 
For  man  has  lived  and  gone  away, 
And  left  but  little  heaps  of  stone, 
And  all  seems  some  long  yesterday. 

Lo !  here  you  learn  how  more  than  fit 
And  dignified  is  silence,  when 
You  hear  the  petty  jeers  of  men 
Who  point,  and  show  their  pointless  wit. 

The  vastness  of  that  voiceless  plain, 
Its  awful  solitudes  remain 
Thenceforth  for  aye  a  part  of  you, 


104          THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

And  you  are  of  the  favored  few, 
For  you  have  learn'd  your  littleness, 
And  heed  not  names  that  name  you  less. 

Some  silent  red  men  cross  your  track ; 
Some  sun-tann'd  trappers  come  and  go  ; 
Some  rolling  seas  of  buffalo 
Break  thunder-like  and  far  away 
Against  the  foot-hills,  breaking  back 
Like  breakers  of  some  troubled  bay ; 
But  not  a  voice  the  long,  lone  day. 

Some  white-tail'd  antelope  blow  by 
*  i 

So  airy-like  ;  some  foxes  shy 
And  shadow-like  shoot  to  and  fro 
Like  weavers'  shuttles,  as  you  pass  ; 
And  now  and  then  from  out  the  grass 
You  hear  some  lone  bird  cluck,  and  call 
A  sharp  keen  call  for  her  lost  brood, 
That  only  makes  the  solitude, 


THE  SPIIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          105 

That  mantles  like  some  sombre  pall, 
Seem  deeper  still,  and  that  is  all. 

A  wide  domain  of  mysteries 
And  signs  that  men  misunderstand  ! 
A  land  of  space  and  dreams  ;  a  land 
Of  sea-salt  lakes  and  dried-up  seas  ! 

A  land  of  caves  and  caravans, 
And  lonely  wells  and  pools ; 

A  land 

That  hath  its  purposes  and  plans, 
That  seems  so  like  dead  Palestine, 
Save  that  its  wastes  have  no  confine 
Till  push'd  against  the  levell' d  skies  ; 
A  land  from  out  whose  depths  shall  rise 
The  new-time  prophets. 

Yea,  the  land 

From  out  whose  awful  depths  shall  come, 
All  clad  in  skins,  with  dusty  feet, 

G* 


io6          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

A  man  fresh  from  his  Maker's  hand, 
A  singer  singing  oversweet, 
A  charmer  charming  very  wise  ; 
And  then  all  men  shall  not  be  dumb. 

Nay,  not  be  dumb,  for  he  shall  say, 
"  Take  heed,  for  I  prepare  the  way 
For  weary  feet." 

Lo !  from  this  land 

Of  Jordan  streams  and  sea-wash'd  sand, 
The  Christ  shall  come  when  next  the  race 
Of  man  shall  look  upon  his  face. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          107 


XXI. 

PURSUER  and  pursued  !  who  knows 
The  why  he  left  the  breezy  pine, 
The  fragrant  tamarack  and  vine, 
Red  rose  and  precious  yellow  rose  ! 

Nay,  Vasques  held  the  vantage  ground 
Above  him  by  the  wooded  steep, 
And  right  nor  left  no  passage  lay, 
And  there  was  left  him  but  that  way,  — 
The  way  through  blood,  or  to  the  deep 
And  lonesome  deserts  far  profound, 
That  know  not  sight  of  man,  or  sound. 

Hot  Vasques  stood  upon  the  rim, 
High,  bold,  and  fierce  with  crag  and  spire. 
He  saw  a  far  gray  eagle  swim, 


io8          THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 


He  saw  a  black  hawk  wheel,  retire, 
And  shun  that  desert  wide  a-wing, 
But  saw  no  other  living  thing. 


High  in  the  full  sun's  gold  and  flame 
He  halting  and  half  waiting  came 
And  stood  below  the  belt  of  wood, 
Then  moved  along  the  broken  hill 
And  looked  below. 

And  long  he  stood 

With  lips  set  firm  and  brow  a-frown, 
And  warring  with  his  iron  will. 
He  mark'd  the  black  line  winding  do\vn 
As  if  into  the  doors  of  death. 
And  as  he  gazed  a  breath  arose 
As  from  his  far-retreating  foes, 
So  hot  it  almost  took  his  breath. 

His  black  eye  flashed  an  angry  fire, 
He  stood  upon  the  mountain  brow, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          109 

With  lifted  arm  like  oaken  bough ; 
The  hot  pursuer  halting  stood 
Irresolute,  in  nettled  ire ; 
Then  look'd  against  the  cooling  wood, 
Then  strode  he  sullen  to  and  fro, 
Then  turned  and  long  he  gazed  below. 

The  sands  flash'd  back  like  fields  of  snow, 
Like  far  blown  seas  that  flood  and  flow. 
The  while  the  rounded  sky  rose  higher, 
And  cleaving  through  the  upper  space, 
The  flush'd  sun  settled  to  his  place, 
Like  some  far  hemisphere  of  fire. 

And  yet  again  he  gazed.     And  now, 
Far  off  and  faint,  he  saw  or  guess'd 
He  saw,  beyond  the  sands  a-west, 
A  dim  and  distant  lifting  beach 
That  daring  men  might  dare  and  reach  : 
Dim  shapes  of  toppled  peaks  with  pine, 


no          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

And  water'd  foot-hills  dark  like  wine, 
And  fruits  on  many  a  bended  bough. 

The  leader  turn'd  and  shook  his  head. 
"And  shall  we  turn  aside,"  he  said, 
"  Or  dare  this  hell  ?  "     The  men  stood  still 
As  leaning  on  his  sterner  will. 

And  then  he  stopp'd  and  turn'd  again, 
And  held  his  broad  hand  to  his  brow, 
And  looked  intent  and  eagerly. 
The  far  white  levels  of  the  plain 
Flash'd  back  like  billows. 

Even  now 

He  saw  rise  up  remote,  'mid  sea, 
'Mid  space,  'mid  wastes,  'mid  nothingness, 
A  ship  becalm'd  as  in  distress. 

The  dim  sign  pass'd  as  suddenly, 
A  gossamer  of  golden  tress, 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          in 

Thrown  over  some  still  middle  sea, 
And  then  his  eager  eyes  grew  dazed,  — 
He  brought  his  two  hands  to  his  face. 
Again  he  raised  his  head,  and  gazed 
With  flashing  eyes  and  visage  fierce 
Far  out,  and  resolute  to  pierce 
The  far,  far,  faint  receding  reach 
Of  space  and  touch  its  farther  beach. 
He  saw  but  space,  unbounded  space  ; 
Eternal  space  and  nothingness. 

Then  all  wax'd  anger'd  as  they  gazed 
Far  out  upon  the  shoreless  land, 
And  clench'd  their  doubled  hands  and  raised 
Their  long  bare  arms,  but  utter'd  not. 
At  last  one  started  from  the  band, 
His  bosom  heaved  as  billows  heave, 
Great  heaving  bosom,  broad  and  brown  : 
He  raised  his  arm,  push'd  up  his  sleeve, 
Push'd  bare  his  arm,  strode  up  and  down, 


112          THE   SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT. 

With   hat  pushed   back,  and   flushed  and 

hot, 
And  shot  sharp  oaths  like  cannon  shot. 

Again  the  man  stood  still,  again 
He  strode  the  height  like  hoary  storin, 
Then  shook  his  fists,  and  then  his  form 
Did  writhe  as  if  it  writhed  with  pain. 

And  yet  again  his  face  was  raised, 
And  yet  again  he  gazed  and  gazed, 
Above  his  fading,  failing  foe, 
With  gather'd  brow  and  visage  fierce, 
As  if  his  soul  would  part  or  pierce 
The  awful  depths  that  lay  below. 

He  had  as  well  look'd  on  that  sea 
That  keeps  Samoa's  coral  isles 
Amid  ten  thousand  watery  miles, 
Bound  round  by  one  eternity  ; 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.          113 

Bound  round  by  realms  of  nothingness, 
In  love  with  their  own  loneliness. 
He  saw  but  space,  unbounded  space, 
And  brought  his  brown  hands  to  his  face. 

There  roll'd  away  to  left,  to  right, 
Unbroken  walls  as  black  as  night, 
And  back  of  these  there  distant  rose 
Steep  cones  of  everlasting  snows. 

At  last  he  was  resolved,  his  form 
Seem'd  like  a  pine  blown  rampt  with  storm. 
He  mounted,  clutch'd  his  reins,  and  then 
Turn'd  sharp  and  savage  to  his  men ; 
And  silent  then  led  down  the  way 
To  night  that  knows  not  night  nor  day. 


H4          THE    SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


XXII. 

LIKE  some  great  serpent  black  and  still, 
Old  Morgan's  men  stole  down  the  hill.     • 
Far  down  the  steep  they  wound  and  wound 
Until  the  black  line  touched  that  land 
Of  gleaming  white  and  silver  sand 
That  knows  not  human  sight  or  sound. 

How  broken  plunged  the  steep  descent ; 
How  barren  I     Desolate,  and  rent 
By  earthquake's  shock,  the  land  lay  dead, 
With  dust  and  ashes  on  its  head. 

'Twas  as  some  old  world  overthrown, 
Where  Theseus  fought  and  Sappho  dreamed 
In  eons  ere  they  touched  this  land, 
And  found  their  proud  souls  foot  and  hand 
Bound  to  the  flesh  and  stuug  with  pain. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.         115 

An  ugly  skeleton  it  seem'd 
Of  its  own  self.     The  fiery  rain 
Of  red  volcanoes  here  had  sown 
The  death  of  cities  of  the  plain. 

The  very  devastation  gleamed. 
All  burnt  and  black,  and  rent  and  seam'd, 
Ay,  vanquished  quite  and  overthrown, 
And  torn  with  thunder-stroke,  and  strown 
With  cinders,  lo  !  the  dead  earth  lay 
As  waiting  for  the  judgment  day. 

Why,  tamer  men  had  turn'd  and  said, 
On  seeing  this,  with  start  and  dread, 
And  whisper'd  each  with  gather'd  breath, 
"  We  come  on  the  confines  of  death." 

They  wound  below  a  savage  bluff 
That  lifted,  from  its  sea-mark'd  base, 
Great  walls  with  characters  cut  rough 


n6          THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

And  deep  by  some  long-perish'd  race  ; 
And  lo  I  strange  beasts  unnamed,  unknown, 
Stood  hewn  and  limn'd  upon  the  stone. 

The  iron  hoofs  sank  here  and  there, 
Plough'd  deep  in  ashes,  broke  anew 
Old  broken  idols,  and  laid  bare 
Old  bits  of  vessels  that  had  grown, 
As  countless  ages  cycled  through, 
Imbedded  with  the  common  stone. 

A  mournful  land  as  land  can  be 
Beneath  their  feet  in  ashes  lay, 
Beside  that  dread  and  dried-up  sea  ; 
A  city  older  than  that  gray 
And  grass-grown  tower  builded  when 
Confusion  cursed  the  tongues  of  men. 

Beneath,  before,  a  city  lay 
That  in  her  majesty  had  shamed 


THE  SHIP   IN  THE  DESERT.          117 

The  wolf-nursed  conqueror  of  old  ; 
Below,  before,  and  far  away 
There  reach'd  the  white  arm  of  a  bay, 
A  broad  bay  shrunk  to  sand  and  stone, 
Where  ships  had  rode  and  breakers  roll'd 
When  Babylon  was  yet  unnamed, 
And  Nimrod's  hunting-fields  unknown. 

Some  serpents  slid  from  out  the  grass 
That  grew  in  tufts  by  shatter'd  stone, 
Then  hid  beneath  some  broken  mass 
That  Time  had  eaten  as  a  bone 
Is  eaten  by  some  savage  beast ; 
An  everlasting  palace  feast. 

A  dull-eyed  rattlesnake  that  lay 
All  loathsome,  yellow-skinn'd,  and  slept, 
Coil'd  tight  as  pine-knot,  in  the  sun, 
With  flat  head  through  the  centre  run, 
Struck  blindly  back,  then  rattling  crept 


n8          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Flat-bellied  down  the  dusty  way  .  .  . 
'Twas  all  the  dead  land  had  to  say. 

Two  pink-eyed  hawks,  wide-wing'd  and  gray 
Scream'd  savagely,  and,  circling  high, 
And  screaming  still  in  mad  dismay, 
Grew  dim  and  died  against  the  sky  .  .  . 
'Twas  all  the  heavens  had  to  say. 

The  grasses  fail'd,  and  then  a  mass 
Of  brown,  burnt  cactus  ruled  the  land, 
And  topt  the  hillocks  of  hot  sand, 
Where  scarce  the  hornM  toad  could  pass. 
Then  stunted  sage  on  either  hand, 
All  loud  with  odors,  spread  the  land. 

The  sun  rose  right  above,  and  fell 
As  falling  molten  as  they  pass'd. 
Some  low-built  junipers  at  last, 
The  last  that  o'er  the  desert  look'd, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          119 

Thick-bough'd,  and  black  as  shapes  of  hell 
Where  dumb  owls  sat  with  bent  bills  hook'd 
Beneath  their'wings  awaiting  night, 
Rose  up,  then  faded  from  the  sight : 
Then  not  another  living  thing 
Crept  on  the  sand  or  kept  the  wing. 

White  Azteckee !     Dead  Azteckee  ! 
Vast  sepulchre  of  buried  sea ! 
What  dim  ghosts  hover  on  thy  rim, 
What  stately-manner'd  shadows  swim 
Along  thy  gleaming  waste  of  sands 
And  shoreless  limits  of  dead  lands  ? 

Dread  Azteckee  !    Dead  Azteckee  ! 
White  place  of  ghosts,  give  up  thy  dead  : 
Give  back  to  Time  thy  buried  hosts  I 
The  new  world's  tawny  Ishmaelite, 
The  roving  tent-born  Shoshonee, 
Who  shuns  thy  shores  as  death,  at  night, 


120          THE   SHIP  IN   THE   DESERT. 

Because  thou  art  so  white,  so  dread, 
'Because  thou  art  so  ghostly  white, 
Because  thou  hast  thy  buried  hosts, 
Has  named  thy  shores  "  the  place  of  ghosts." 

Thy  white  uncertain  sands  are  white 
With  bones  of  thy  unburied  dead 
That  will  not  perish  from  the  sight. 
They  drown  bat  perish  not,  — ah  me  ! 
What  dread  unsightly  sights  are  spread 
Along  this  lonesome  dried-up  sea. 

White  Azteckee,  give  up  to  me 
Of  all  th}r  prison'd  dead  but  one, 
That  now  lies  bleaching  in  the  sun, 
To  tell  what  strange  allurements  lie 
Within  this  dried-up  oldest  sea, 
To  tempt  men  to  its  heart  and  die. 

Old,  hoar,  and  dried-up  sea !  so  old  ! 
So  strewn  with  wealth,  so  sown  with  gold  I 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          121 

Yea,  thou  art  old  and  hoary  white 
With  time,  and  ruin  of  all  things  ; 
And  on  thy  lonesome  borders  night 
Sits  brooding  as  with  wounded  wings. 

The  winds  that  toss'd  thy  waves  and  blew 
Across  thy  breast  the  blowing  sail, 
And  cheer 'd  the  hearts  of  cheering  crew 
From  farther  seas,  no  more  prevail. 

Thy  white- wall'd  cities  all  lie  prone, 
With  but  a  pyramid,  a  stone, 
Set  head  and  foot  in  sands  to  tell 
The  tired  stranger  where  they  fell. 

The  patient  ox  that  bended  low 
His  neck,  and  drew  slow  up  and  down 
Thy  thousand  freights  through  rock-built  town 
Is  now  the  free-born  buffalo. 

No  longer  of  the  timid  fold, 

6 


122          THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

The  mountain  sheep  leaps  free  and  bold 
His  high-built  summit  and  looks  down 
From  battlements  of  buried  town. 

Thine  ancient  steeds  know  not  the  rein  ; 
They  lord  the  land  ;  they  come,  they  go 
At  will ;  they  laugh  at  man  ;  they  blow 
A  cloud  of  black  steeds  o'er  the  plain. 

Thy  monuments  lie  buried  now, 
The  ashes  whiten  on  thy  brow, 
The  winds,  the  waves,  have  drawn  away, 
The  very  wild  man  dreads  to  stay. 

O  !  thou  art  very  old.     I  lay, 
Made  dumb  with  awe  and  wonderment, 
Beneath  a  palm  before  my  tent, 
With  idle  and  discouraged  hands, 
Not  many  days  agone,  on  sands 
Of  awful,  silent  Africa. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          123 

Long  gazing  on  her  might}7  shades, 
I  did  recall  a  semblance  there 
Of  thee.     I  mused  where  story  fades 
From  her  dark  brow  and  found  her  fair. 

A  slave,  and  old,  within  her  veins 
There 'runs  that  warm,  forbidden  blood 
That  no  man  dares  to  dignify 
In  elevated  song. 

The  chains 

That  held  her  race  but  yesterday 
Hold  still  the  hands  of  men.     Forbid 
Is  Ethiop. 

The  turbid  flood 
Of  prejudice  lies  stagnant  still, 
And  all  the  world  is  tainted.     Will 
And  wit  lie  broken  as  a  lance 
Against  the  brazen  mailed  face 
Of  old  opinion. 


124          THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

None  advance 

Steel-clad  and  glad  to  the  attack, 
With  trumpet  and  with  song.     Look  back 
Beneath  yon  pyramids  lie  hid 
The  histories  of  her  great  race. 
Old  Nilus  rolls  right  sullen  by, 
With  all  his  secrets. 

Who  shall  say : 
My  father  rear'd  a  pyramid  ; 
My  brother  clipp'd  the  dragon's  wings  ; 
My  mother  was  Semiramis  ? 
Yea,  harps  strike  idly  out  of  place  ; 
Men  sing  of  savage  Saxon  kings 
New-born  and  known  but  yesterday, 
And  Norman  blood  presumes  to  say.  .  .  . 

Nay,  ye  who  boast  ancestral  name 
And  vaunt  deeds  dignified  by  time 
Must  not  despise  her. 


THE   SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.          125 

Who  hath  worn 
Since  time  began  a  face  that  is 
So  all-enduring,  old  like  this  — 
A  face  like  Africa's  ? 

Behold ! 

The  Sphinx  is  Africa.     The  bond 
Of  silence  is  upon  her. 

Old 

And   white  with    tombs,   and    rent    and 

shorn ; 

With  raiment  wet  with  tears,  and  torn, 
And  trampled  on,  yet  all  untamed ; 
All  naked  now,  yet  not  ashamed,  — 
The  mistress  of  the  young  world's  prime, 
Whose  obelisks  still  laugh  at  Time, 
And  lift  to  heaven  her  fair  name, 
Sleeps  satisfied  upon  her  fame. 

Beyond  the  Sphinx,  and  still  beyond, 
Beyond  the  tawny  desert-tomb 


126          THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Of  Time  ;  beyond  tradition,  loom 
And  lift  ghostlike  from  out  the  gloom 
Her  thousand  cities,  battle-torn 
And  gray  with  story  and  with  time. 
Her  very  ruins  are  sublime, 
Her  thrones  with  mosses  overborne 
Make  velvets  for  the  feet  of  Time. 

She  points  a  hand  and  cries  :  "  Go  read 
The  letter'd  obelisks  that  lord 
Old  Rome,  and  know  my  name  and  deed. 
My  archives  these,  and  plunder' d  when 
I  had  grown  weary  of  all  men." 
We  turn  to  these  ;  we  cry  :  "  Abhorr'd 
Old  Sphinx,  behold,  we  cannot  read !  " 

And  yet  my  dried-up  desert  sea 
Was  populous  with  blowing  sail, 
And  set  with  city,  white-vvall'd  town, 
All  manu'd  with  armies  bright  with  mail, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          127 

Ere  yet  that  awful  Sphinx  sat  down 
To  gaze  into  eternity, 
Or  Egypt  knew  her  natal  hour, 
Or  Africa  had  name  or  power. 


128          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


XXIII. 

AWAY  upon  the  sandy  seas, 
The  gleaming,  burning,  boundless  plain. 
How  solemn-like,  how  still,  as  when 
The  mighty-minded  Genoese 
Drew  three  tall  ships  and  led  his  men 

From  laud  they  might  not  meet  again. 

/ 

The  black  men  rode  in  front  by  two, 
The  fair  one  follow'd  close,  and  kept 
Her  face  held  down  as  if  she  wept ; 
But  Morgan  kept  the  rear,  and  threw 
His  flowing,  swaying  beard  aback 
Anon  along  their  lonesome  track. 

They  rode  against  the  level  sun, 
And  spake  not  he  or  any  one. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          129 

The  weary  day  fell  down  to  rest, 
A  star  upon  his  mantled  breast, 
E*e  scarce  the  sun  fell  out  of  space, 
And  Venus  glimmer'd  in  his  place. 

Yea,  all  the  stars  shone  just  as  fair, 

And  constellations  kept  their  round, 

And  look'd  from  out  the  great  profound, 

And  marched,  and  countermarch'd,  and  shone 

Upon  that  desolation  there, 

Why  just  the  same  as  if  proud  man 

Strode  up  and  down  array 'd  in  gold 

And  purple  as  in  days  of  old, 

And  reckon'd  all  of  his  own  plan, 

Or  made  at  least  for  man  alone 

And  man's  dominion  from  a  throne. 

Yet  on  push'd  Morgan  silently, 
And  straight  as  strong  ship  on  a  sea  ; 
And  ever  as  he  rode  there  lay 
6*  i 


130          THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

To  right,  to  left,  and  in  his  way, 
Strange  objects  looming  in  the  dark, 
Some  like  a  mast,  or  ark,  or  bark. 

And  things  half  hidden  in  the  sand 
Lay  down  before  them  where  they  pass'd, 
A  broken  beam,  half-buried  mast, 
A  spar  or  bar,  such  as  might  be 
Blown  crosswise,  tumbled  on  the  strand 
Of  some  sail-crowded  stormy  sea. 


SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.         131 


XXIV. 

ALL  night  by  moon,  by  morning  star, 
The  still,  black  men  still  kept  their  way  ; 
All  night  till  morn,  till  burning  day, 
Hot  Vasques  follow'd  fast  and  far. 

The  sun  shot  arrows  instantly  ; 
And  men  turn'd  east  against  the  sun, 
And  men  did  look  and  cry,  "  The  sea  !  " 
And  Morgan  look'd,  nay,  every  one 
Did  look,  and  lift  his  hand,  and  shade 
His  brow  and  look,  and  look  dismay'd. 

Lo !  looming  up  before  the  sun, 
Before  their  eyes,  yet  far  away, 
A  ship  with  many  a  tall  mast  lay,  — 
Lay  resting,  as  if  she  had  run 


132          THE  SHIP   IN  THE  DESERT. 

Some  splendid  race  through  seas,  and  won 
The  right  to  rest  in  salt  flood  bay,  — 
And  lay  until  the  level  sun 
Uprose,  and  then  she  fell  away, 
As  mists  melt  in  the  full  of  day. 

Old  Morgan  lifts  his  bony  hand, 
He  does  not  speak  or  make  command,  — 
Short  time  for  wonder,  doubt,  delay  ; 
Dark  objects  sudden  heave  in  sight 
As  if  blown  out  or  born  of  night. 
It  is  enough,  they  turn  ;^away ! 

The  sun  is  high,  the  sands  are  hot 
To  touch,  and  all  the  tawny  plain, 
That  glistens  white  with  salt  sea  sand, 
Sinks  white  and  open  as  they  tread 
And  trudge,  with  half-averted  head, 
As  if  to  swallow  them  amain. 
They  look,  as  men  look  back  to  land 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.         133 

Wlien  standing  out  to  stormy  sea, 
But  still  keep  face  and  murmur  not ; 
Keep  stern  and  still  as  destiny, 
Or  iron  king  of  Germany. 

It  was  a  sight !    A  slim  dog  slid 
White-mouth'd  and  still  along  the  sand, 
The  pleading  picture  of  distress. 
He  stopp'd,  leap'd  up  to  lick  a  hand, 
A  hard  black  hand  that  sudden  chid 
Him  back  and  check'd  his  tenderness  ; 

But  when  the  black  man  turn'd  his  head 

t 

His  poor  mute  friend  had  fallen  dead. 

The  very  air  hung  white  with  heat, 
And  white,  and  fair,  and  far  away 
A  lifted,  shining  snow-shaft  lay 

As  if  to  mock  their  mad  retreat. 

•«. 

The  white,  salt  sands  beneath  their  feet 


134          THE   SHIP   IN  THE  DESERT. 

Did  make  the  black  men  loom  as  grand, 
From  out  the  lifting,  heaving  heat, 
As  they  rode  sternly  on  and  on, 
As  any  bronze  men  in  the  land 
That  sit  their  statue  steeds  upon. 

The  men  were  silent  as  men  dead. 
The  sun  hung  centred  overhead, 
Nor  seem'd  to  move.     It  molten  hung 
Like  some  great  central  burner  swung 
From  lofty  beams  with  golden  bars 
In  sacristy  set  round  with  stars. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          135 


XXV. 

WHY,  flame  could  hardly  be  more  hot 
Yet  on  the  mad  pursuer  came, 
Across  the  gleaming  yielding  ground, 
Right  on,  as  if  he  fed  on  flame, 
Right  on  until  the  mid-day  found 
The  man  within  a  pistol-shot. 

He  hail'd,  but  Morgan  answer'd  not, 
He  hail'd,  then  came  a  feeble  shot, 
And  strangely,  in  that  vastness  there, 
It  seem'd  to  scarcely  fret  the  air, 
But  fell  down  harmless  anywhere. 

He  fiercely  hail'd  ;  and  then  there  fell 
A  horse.     And  then  a  mart  fell  down, 
And  in  the  sea-sand  seem'd  to  drown. 


136          THE  SHIP   IN   THE  DESERT. 

• 

Then  Vasques  cursed,  but  scarce  could  tell 
The  sound  of  his  own  voice,  and  all 
In  mad  confusion  seem'd  to  fall. 

Yet  on  push'd  Morgan,  silent  on, 
And  as  he  rode  he  lean'd  and  drew, 
From  his  catenas,  gold,  and  threw 
The  bright  coins  in  the  glaring  sun. 
But  Vasques  did  not  heed  a  whit, 
He  scarcely  deign'd  to  scowl  at  it. 

Again  lean'd  Morgan !     He  uprose, 
And  held  a  high  hand  to  his  foes, 
And  held  two  goblets  up,  and  one 
Did  shine  as  if  itself  a  sun. 

Then  leaning  backward  from  his  place, 
He  hurl'd  them  in  his  foemen's  face, 
Then  drew  again,  and  so  kept  on, 
Till  goblets,  gold,  and  all  were  gone. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          13? 

Yea,  strew'd  them  out  upon  the  sands 
As  men  upon  a  frosty  morn, 
In  Mississippi's  fertile  lands, 
Hurl  out  great,  yellow  ears  of  corn 
To  hungry  swine  with  hurried  hands, 


138          THE  SHIP  IN   THE   DESERT. 


XXVI. 

Lo  !  still  hot  Vasques  urges  on, 
With  flashing  eye  and  flushing  cheek. 
What  would  he  have  ?  what  does  he  seek  ? 
He  does  not  heed  the  gold  a  whit, 
He  does  not  deign  to  look  at  it  ; 
But  now  his  gleaming  steel  is  drawn, 
And  now  he  leans,  would  hail  again,  — 
He  opes  his  swollen  lips  in  vain. 

But  look  you  !     See !     A  lifted  hand. 
And  Vasques  beckons  his  command. 
He  cannot  speak,  he  leans,  and  he 
Bends  low  upon  his  saddle-bow. 
And  now  his  blade  drops  to  his  knee, 
And  now  he  falters,  now  comes  on, 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.         139 

And  now  his  head  is  bended  low  ; 
And  now  his  rein,  his  steel,  is  gone  ; 
Now  faint  as  any  child  is  he, 
And  now  his  steed  sinks  to  the  knee. 


140          THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 


XXVII. 

THE  sun  hung  molten  in  mid  space, 
Like  some  great  star  fix'd  in  its  place. 
From  out  the  gleaming  spaces  rose 
A  sheen  of  gossamer  and  danced, 
As  Morgan  slow  and  still  advanced 
Before  his  far-receding  foes. 

Right  on  and  on  the  still  black  line 
Drove   straight  through  gleaming   sand  and 

shine, 

By  spar  and  beam  and  mast  and  stray, 
And  waif  of  sea  and  cast-away. 

The  far  peaks  faded  from  their  sight, 
The  mountain  walls  fell  down  like  night, 
And  nothing  now  was  to  be 'seen 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          141 

Save  but  the  dim  sun  hung  in  sheen 
Of  fairy  garments  all  blood-red,  — 
The  hell  beneath,  the  hell  o'erhead. 

A  black  man  tumbled  from  his  steed. 
He  clutch'd  in  death  the  moving  sands. 
He  caught  the  round  earth  in  his  hands, 
He  gripp'd  it,  held  it  hard  and  grim.  .  .  . 
The  great  sad  mother  did  not  heed 
His  hold,  but  pass'd  right  on  from  him, 
And  ere  he  died  grew  far  and  dim. 


142          THE  SHIP  IN    THE   DESERT. 


XXVIII. 

THE  sun  seem'd  broken  loose  at  last, 
And  settled  slowly  to  the  west, 
Half  hidden  as  he  fell  a-rest, 
Yet,  like  the  flying  Parthian,  cast 
His  keenest  arrows  as  he  pass'd. 

On,  on,  the  black  men  slowly  drew 
Their  length,  like  some  great  serpent  through 
The  sands,  and  left  a  hollow'd  groove : 
They  march'd,  they  scarcely  seem'd  to  move. 
How  patient  in  their  muffled  tread  ! 
How  like  the  dead  march  of  the  dead ! 

At  last  the  slow  black  line  was  check'd, 
An  instant  only  ;  now  again 
It  moved,  it  falter'd  now,  and  now 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.          143 

It  settled  in  its  sandy  bed, 

And  steeds  stood  rooted  to  the  plain. 

Then  all  stood  still,  and  men  somehow 

Look'd  down  and  with  averted  head ; 

Look'd  down,  nor  dared  look  up,  nor  reck'd 

Of  any  thing,  of  ill  or  good, 

But  bowed  and  stricken  still  they  stood. 

Like  some  brave  band  that  dared  the  fierce 
And  bristled  steel  of  gather'd  host, 
These  daring  men  had  dared  to  pierce 
This  awful  vastness,  dead  and  gray. 
And  now  at  last  brought  well  at  bay 
They  stood,  —  but  each  stood  to  his  post ; 
Each  man  an  unencompassed  host. 

Then  one  dismounted,  waved  a  hand, 
'Twas  Morgan's  stern  and  still  command. 
There  fell  a  clash,  like  loosen'd  chain, 
And  men  dismounting  loosed  the  rein. 


144          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Then  every  steed  stood  loosed  and  free  ; 
And  some  stepp'd  slow  and  mute  aside, 
And  some  sank  to  the  sands  and  died, 
And  some  stood  still  as  shadows  be, 
And  men  stood  gazing  silently. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          145 


XXIX. 

OLD  Morgan  turn'd  and  raised  his  hand, 
And  laid  it  level  with  his  eyes, 
And  look'd  far  back  along  the  land. 
He  saw  a  dark  dust  still  uprise, 
Still  surely  tend  to  where  he  lay. 
He  did  not  curse,  he  did  not  say, 
He  did  not  even  look  surprise, 
But  silent  turned  to  her  his  eyes. 

Nay,  he  was  over-gentle  now, 
He  wiped  a  time  his  Titan  brow, 
Then  sought  dark  Ina  in  her  place, 
Put  out  his  arms,  put  down  his  face 
And  look'd  in  hers. 

She  reach'd  her  hands, 
She  lean'd,  she  fell  upon  his  breast ; 


146          THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

He  reach' d  his  arms  around  ;  she  lay 
As  lies  a  bird  in  leafy  nest. 
And  he  look'd  out  across  the  sands, 
And  then  his  face  fell  down,  he  smiled, 
And  softly  said,-"  My  child,  my  child  !  " 
Then  bent  his  head  and  strode  away. 

And  as  he  strode  he  turn'd  his  head, 
He  sidewise  cast  his  brief  commands  ; 
He  led  right  on  across  the  sands. 
They  rose  and  follow'd  where  he  led. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          147 


'TwAS  so  like  night,  the  sun  was  dim, 
Some  black  men  settled  down  to  rest, 
But  none  made  murmur  or  request. 
The  dead  were  dead,  and  that  were  best ; 
The  living  leaning  follow'd  him, 
In  huddled  heaps,  half  nude,  and  grim. 

The  day  through  high  mid-heaven  rode 
Across  the  sky,  the  dim  red  day ; 
A  west  the  warlike  day-god  strode 
With  shoulder'd  shield  away,  away. 

The  savage,  warlike  day  bent  low, 
As  reapers  bend  in  gathering  grain, 
As  archer  bending  bends  yew  bow, 
And  flush'd  and  fretted  as  in  pain. 


148  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Then  down  his  shoulder  slid  his  shield, 
So  huge,  so  awful,  so  blood-red 
And  batter'd  as  from  battle-field  : 
It  settled,  sunk  to  his  left  hand, 
Sunk  down  and  down,  it  touch'd  the  sand, 
Then  day  along  the  land  lay  dead, 
Without  one  candle  at  his  head. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.         149 


XXXI. 

AND  now  the  moon  wheel'd  white  and  vast, 
A  round,  unbroken,  marbled  moon, 
And  touch'd  the  far  bright  buttes  of  snow, 
Then  climb'd  their  shoulders  over  soon  ; 
And  there  she  seem'd  to  sit  at  last, 
To  hang,  to  hover  there,  to  grow, 
Grow  vaster  than  vast  peaks  of  snow. 

Grow  whiter  than  the  snow's  own  breast, 
Grow  softer  than  September's  noon, 
Until  the  snow-peaks  seem'd  at  best 
But  one  wide,  shining,  shatter'd  moon. 

She  sat  the  battlements  of  time  ; 
She  shone  in  mail  of  frost  and  rime, 


l$o          THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

A  time,  and  then  rose  up  and  stood 
In  heaven  in  sad  widowhood. 

The  faded  moon  fell  wearily, 
And  then  the  sun  right  suddenly 
Rose  up  full  arm'd,  and  rushing  came 
Across  the  land  like  flood  of  flame. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  151 


XXXII. 

THE  sun  roll'd  on.     Lo !  hills  uprose 
As  push'd  against  the  arching  skies,  — 
As  if  to  meet  the  timid  sun  — 
Rose  sharp  from  out  the  sultry  dun, 
Set  well  with  wood,  and  brier,  and  rose, 
And  seem'd  to  hold  the  free  repose 
Of  lands  where  rocky  summits  rise, 
Or  unfenced  fields  of  Paradise. 

The  black  men  look'd  up  from  the  sands 
Against  the  dim,  uncertain  skies, 
As  men  that  disbelieved  their  eyes, 
And  would  have  laugh'd  ;    they  wept  in- 
stead, 

With  shoulders  heaved,  with  bowing  head 
Hid  down  between  their  two  black  hands. 


152          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

They  stood  and  gazed.     Lo  !  like  the  call 
Of  spring-time  promises,  the  trees 
Lean'd  from  their  lifted  mountain  wall, 
And  stood  clear  cut  against  the  skies 
As  if  they  grew  in  pistol-shot. 
Yet  all  the  mountains  answer'd  not, 
And  yet  there  came  no  cooling  breeze, 
Nor  soothing  sense  of  windy  trees. 

At  last  old  Morgan,  looking  through 
His  shaded  fingers,  let  them  go, 
And  let  his  load  fall  down  as  dead. 
He  groan'd,  he  clutch'd  his  beard  of  snow 
As  was  his  wont,  then  bowing  low, 
Took  up  his  life,  and  moaning  said, 
"Lord  Christ!  'tis  the  mirage,  and  we 
Stand  blinded  in  a  burning.sea." 

O  sweet  deceit  when  minds  despair! 
0  mad  deceit  of  man  betray'd ! 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.  153 

O  mother  Nature,  thou  art  fair, 
But  thou  art  false  as  man  or  maid. 

Yea,  many  lessons,  mother  Earth, 
Have  we  thy  children  learn'd  of  thee 
In  sweet  deceit.  .  .  .  The  sudden  birth 
Of  hope  that  dies  mocks  destiny. 

O  mother  Earth,  thy  promises 
Are  fallen  leaves ;  they  lie  forgot  I 
Such  lessons !    How  could  we  learn  less  ? 
We  are  but  children,  blame  us  not. 


7* 


154  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


xxxni. 

AGAIN  they  move,  but  where  or  how 
It  recks  them  little,  nothing  now. 
Yet  Morgan  leads  them  as  before, 
But  totters  now  ;  he  bends,  and  he 
Is  like  a  broken  ship  a-sea,  — 
A  ship  that  knows  not  any  shore, 
And  knows  it  shall  not  anchor  more. 

Some  leaning  shadows  crooning  crept 
Through  desolation,  crown'd  in  dust. 
And  had  the  mad  pursuer  kept 
His  path,  and  cherished  his  pursuit  ? 
There  lay  no  choice.     Advance  he  must 
Advance,  and  eat  his  ashen  fruit. 

Yet  on  and  on  old  Morgan  led. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          155 

His  black  men  totter'd  to  and  fro, 
A  leaning,  huddled  heap  of  woe  ; 
Then  one  fell  down,  then  two  fell  dead  ; 
Yet  not  one  moaning  word  was  said. 

They  made  no  sign,  they  said  no  word, 
Nor  lifted  once  black,  helpless  hands ; 
And  all  the  time  no  sound  was  heard 
Save  but  the  dull,  dead,  muffled  tread 
Of  shuffled  feet  in  shining  sands. 

Again  the  still  moon  rose  and  stood 
Above  the  dim,  dark  belt  of  wood, 
Above  the  buttes,  above  the  snow, 
And  bent  a  sad,  sweet  face  below. 

She  reach'd  along  the  level  plain 
Her  long,  white  fingers.     Then  again 
She  reach'd,  she  touch'd  the  snowy  sands, 
Then  reach'd  far  out  until  she  touch'd 


156          THE   SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

A  heap  that  lay  with  doubled  hands, 
Reach'd  from  its  sable  self,  and  elutch'd 
With  death. 

O  tenderly 

That  black,  that  dead  and  hollow  face 
Was  kiss'd  at  midnight.  .  .  . 

What  if  I  say 

The  long,  white  moonbeams  reaching  there, 
Caressing  idle  hands  of  clay, 
And  resting  on  the  wrinkled  hair 
And  great  lips  push'd  in  sullen  pout, 
Were  God's  own  fingers  reaching  out 
From  heaven  to  that  lonesome  place  ? 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          157 


xxxrv. 

BY  waif  and  stray  and  cast-away, 
Such  as  are  seen  in  seas  withdrawn, 
Old  Morgan  led  in  silence  on, 
And  sometime  lifting  tip  his  head 
To  guide  his  footsteps  as  he  led, 
He  deem'd  he  saw  a  great  ship  lay 
Her  keel  along  the  sea-wash'd  sand, 
As  with  her  captain's  old  command. 

The  stars  were  seal'd  ;  and  then  a  haze 
Of  gossamer  fill'd  all  the  west, 
So  like  in  Indian  summer  days, 
And  veil'd  all  things. 

And  then  the  moon 
Grew  pale,  and  faint,  and  far.     She  died, 


158  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

And  now  nor  star  nor  any  sign 
Fell  out  of  heaven. 

Oversoon 

Some  black  men  fell.     Then  at  their  side 
Some  one  sat  down  to  watch,  to  rest  .  .  . 
To  rest,  to  watch,  or  what  you  will, 
The  man  sits  resting,  watching  still. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          159 


XXXV. 

THE  day  glared  through  the  eastern  rim 
Of  rocky  peaks,  as  prison  bars  ; 
With  light  as  dim  as  distant  stars 
The  sultry  sunbeams  filter'd  down 
Through  misty  phantoms  weird  and  dim, 
Through  shifting  shapes  bat-wing'd  and 
brown. 

Like  some  vast  ruin  wrapp'd  in  flame 
The  sun  fell  down  before  them  now. 
Behind  them  wheel'd  white  peaks  of  snow, 
As  they  proceeded. 

Gray  and  grim 

And  awful  objects  went  and  came 
Before  them  then.     They  pierced  at  last 


160  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

The  desert's  middle  depths,  and  lo  I 
There  loom'd  from  out  the  desert  vast 
A  lonely  ship,  well-built  and  trim, 
And  perfect  all  in  hull  and  mast. 

No  storm  had  staiu'd  it  any  whit, 
No  seasons  set  their  teeth  in  it. 
Her  masts  were  white  as  ghosts,  and  tall ; 
Her  decks  were  as  of  yesterday. 
The  rains,  the  elements,  and  all 
The  moving  things  that  bring  decay 
By  fair  green  lands  or  fairer  seas, 
Had  touch'd  not  here  for  centuries. 

Lo !  date  had  lost  all  reckoning, 
And  Time  had  long  forgotten  all 
In  this  lost  land,  and  no  new  thing 
Or  old  could  anywise  befall, 
Or  morrows,  or  a  yesterday, 
For  Time  went  by  the  other  way. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          161 

The  ages  have  not  any  course 
Across  this  untrack'd  waste. 

The  sky 

Wears  here  one  blue,  unbending  hue, 
The  heavens  one  unchanging  mood. 
The  far  still  stars  they  filter  through 
The  heavens,  falling  bright  and  bold 
Against  the  sands  as  beams  of  gold. 
The  wide,  white  moon  forgets  her  force  ; 
The  very  sun  rides  round  and  high, 
As  if  to  shun  this  solitude. 

What  dreams  of  gold  or  conquest  drew 
The  oak-built  sea-king  to  these  seas, 
Ere  Earth,  old  Earth,  unsatisfied, 
Rose  up  and  shook  man  in  disgust 
From  off  her  wearied  breast,  and  threw 
And  smote  his  cities  down,  and  dried 
These  measured,  town-set  seas  to  dust  ? 
Who  trod  these  decks  ? 


162          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

What  captain  knew 
The  straits  that  led  to  lands  like  these  ? 

Blew  south-sea  breeze  or  north-sea  breeze  ? 
What  spiced  winds  whistled  through  this  sail  ? 
What  banners  stream'd  above  these  seas  ? 
And  what  strange  seaman  answer'd  back 
To  other  sea-king's  beck  and  hail, 
That  blew  across  his  foamy  track ! 

Sought  Jason  here  the  golden  fleece  ? 
Came  Trojan  ship  or  ships  of  Greece  ? 
Came  decks  dark-mann'd  from  sultry  Ind, 
Woo'd  here  by  spacious  wooing  wind  ? 
So  like  a  grand,  sweet  woman,  when 
A  great  love  moves  her  soul  to  men  ? 

Came  here  strong  ships  of  Solomon 
In  quest  of  Ophir  by  Cathay  ?  .  .  . 
Sit  down  and  dream  of  seas  withdrawn, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  163 

And  every  sea-breath  drawn  away.  .  .  . 
Sit  down,  sit  down ! 

"What  is  the  good 
That  we  go  on  still  fashioning 
Great  iron  ships  or  walls  of  wood, 
High  masts  of  oak,  or  any  thing  ? 

Lo !  all  things  moving  must  go  by. 
The  sea  lies  dead.     Behold,  this  land 
Sits  desolate  in  dust  beside 
His  snow-white,  seamless  shroud  of  sand ; 
The  very  clouds  have  wept  and  died, 
And  only  God  is  in  the  sky. 


164          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


XXXVI. 

THE  sands  lay  heaved,  as  heaved  by  waves, 
As  fashion'd  in  a  thousand  graves : 
And  wrecks  of  storm  blown  here  and  there, 
And  dead  men  scatter'd  everywhere ; 
And  strangely  clad  they  seern'd  to  be 
Just  as  they  sank  in  that  old  sea. 

The  mermaid  with  her  splendid  hair 
Had  clung  about  a  wreck's  beam  there  ; 
And  sung  her  song  of  sweet  despair, 
The  time  she  saw  the  seas  withdrawn 
And  all  her  home  and  glory  gone  : 

Had  sung  her  melancholy  dirge, 
Above  the  last  receding  surge, 
And,  looking  down  the  rippled  tide, 
Had  sung,  and  with  her  song  had  died. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  165 

The  monsters  of  the  sea  lay  bound 
In  strange  contortions.     Coil'd  around 
A  mast  half  heaved  above  the  sand, 
The  great  sea-serpent's  folds  were  found, 
As  solid  as  ship's  iron  band. 
And  basking  in  the  burning  sun 
There  rose  the  great  whale's  skeleton. 

A  thousand  sea  things  stretch'd  across 
Their  weary  and  bewilder'd  way : 
Great  unnamed  monsters  wrinkled  lay 
With  sunken  eyes  and  shrunken  form. 
The  strong  sea-horse  that  rode  the  storm 
With  mane  as  light  and  white  as  floss, 
Lay  tangled  in  his  mane  of  moss. 

And  anchor,  hull,  and  cast-away, 
And  all  things  that  the  miser  deep 
Doth  in  his  darkling  locker  keep, 
To  right  and  left  around  them  lay. 


166          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Yea,  coins  lay  there  on  either  hand, 
Lay  shining  in  the  silver  sand ; 
As  plenty  in  the  wide  sands  lay 
As  stars  along  the  Milky  Way. 

And  golden  coin,  and  frolden  cup, 
And  golden  cruse,  and  golden  plate, 
And  all  that  great  seas  swallow  up, 
Right  in  their  dreadful  pathway  lay.  .  . 
The  hungry  and  insatiate 
Old  sea,  made  hoary  white  with  time, 
And  wrinkled  cross  with  many  a  crime, 
With  all  his  treasured  thefts  was  there, 
His  sins,  his  very  soul  laid  bare, 
As  if  it  were  the  Judgment  Day. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          167 


XXXVII. 

AND  now  the  tawny  night  fell  soon, 
And  there  was  neither  star  nor  moon  ; 
And  yet  it  seem'd  it  was  not  night. 
There  fell  a  phosphorescent  light, 
There  rose  from   white  sands  and  dead 

men 

A  soft  light,  white  and  fair  as  when 
The  Spirit  of  Jehovah  moved 
Upon  the  water's  conscious  face, 
And  made  it  His  abiding-place. 

O  mighty  waters  unreproved  I 
Thou  deep !  where  the  Jehovah  moved 
Ere  soul  of  man  was  called  to  be  I 


1 68          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

O  seas  !  that  were  created  not 
As  man,  as  earth,  as  light,  as  aught 
That  is.     O  sea  !  thou  art  to  me 
A  terror,  death,  eternity. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          169 


XXXVIII. 

I  DO  recall  some  sad  days  spent, 
By  borders  of  the  Orient, 
Days  sweet  as  sad  to  memory  .  .  . 
'T would  make  a  tale.     It  matters  not  .  .  , 
I  sought  the  loneliest  seas ;  I  sought 
The  solitude  of  ruins,  and  forgot 
Mine  own  lone  life  and  littleness 
Before  this  fair  land's  mute  distress, 
That  sat  within  this  changeful  sea. 

Slow  sailing  through  the  reedy  isles, 
By  unknown  banks,   through   unknown 

bays, 

Some  sunny,  summer  yesterdays, 
8 


170          THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Where  Nature's  beauty  still  beguiles, 
I  saw  the  storied  yellow  sail 
And  lifted  prow  of  steely  mail. 
Tis  all  that's  left  Torcello  now,  — 
A  pirate's  yellow  sail,  a  prow. 

Below  the  far,  faint  peaks  of  snow, 
And  grass-grown  causeways  well  below, 
I  touched  Torcello. 

Once  a-land, 

I  took  a  sea-shell  in  my  hand, 
And  blew  like  any  trumpeter. 
I  felt  the  fig-leaves  lift  and  stir 
On  trees  that  reached  from  ruined  wall 
Above  my  head,  but  that  was  all. 
Back  from  the  farther  island  shore 
Came  echoes  trooping  ;  nothing  more. 

Lo !  here  stood  Adria  once,  and  here 
Attila  came  with  sword  and  flame, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          171 

And  set  his  throne  of  hollowed  stone 
In  her  high  mart. 

And  it  remains 

Still  lord  o'er  all.     Where  once  the  tears 
Of  mute  petition  fell,  the  rains 
Of  heaven  fall.     Lo  !  all  alone 
There  lifts  this  massive  empty  throne  ! 
The  sea  has  changed  his  meed,  his  mood, 
And  made  this  sedgy  solitude. 

By  cattle  paths  grass-grown  and  worn, 
Through  marbled    streets  all   stain'd   and 

torn 

By  time  and  battle,  there  I  walked. 
A  bent  old  beggar,  white  as  one 
For  better  fruitage  blossoming, 
Came  on.     And  as  he  came  he  talked 
Unto  himself ;  for  there  are  none 
In  all  his  island,  old  and  dim, 
To  answer  back  or  question  him. 


172  THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

I  turned,  retraced  my  steps  once  more. 
The  hot  miasma  steamed  and  rose 
In  deadly  vapor  from  the  reeds 
That  grew  from  out  the  shallow  shore, 
Where  peasants  say  the  sea-horse  feeds, 
And  Neptune  shapes  his  horn  and  blows. 

I  climb'd  and  sat  that  throne  of  stone 
To  contemplate,  to  dream,  to  reign ; 
Ay,  reign  above  myself ;  to  call 
The  people  of  the  past  again 
Before  me  as  I  sat  alone 
In  all  my  kingdom. 

There  were  kine 

That  browsed  along  the  reedy  brine, 
And  now  and  then  a  tusky  boar 
Would  shake  the  high  reeds  of  the  shore, 
A  bird  blow  by,  —  but  that  was  all. 

I  watched  the  lonesome  sea-gull  pass. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          173 

I  did  remember  and  forget ; 
The  past  rolled  by  ;  I  stood  alone. 
I  sat  the  shapely  chiselled  stone 
That  stands  in  tall  sweet  grasses  set ; 
Ay,  girdle  deep  in  long  strong  grass, 
And  green  Alfalfa. 

Very  fair 

The  heavens  were,  and  still  and  blue, 
For  Nature  knows  no  changes  there. 
The  Alps  of  Venice,  far  away 
Like  some  half-risen  half  moon  lay. 

How  sweet  the  grasses  at  my  feet ! 
The  smell  of  clover  over  sweet. 
I  heard  the  hum  of  bees.     The  bloom 
Of  clover-tops  and  cherry-trees 
Were  being  rifled  by  the  bees, 
And  these  were  building  in  a  tomb. 

The  fair  Alfalfa ;  such  as  has 


174          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Usurped  the  Occident,  and  grows 
With  all  the  sweetness  of  the  rose 
On  Sacramento's  sundown  hills, 
Is  there,  and  that  mid  island  fills 
With  fragrance.     Yet  the  smell  of  death 
Comes  riding  in  on  every  breath. 

Lo  !  death  that  is  not  death,  but  rest : 
To  step  .aside,  to  watch  and  wait 
Beside  the  wave,  outside  the  gate, 
With  all  life's  pulses  in  your  breast : 
To  absolutely  rest,  to  pray 
In  some  lone  mountain  while  you  may. 

That  sad  sweet  fragrance.     It  had  sense, 
And  sound,  and  voice.     It  was  a  part 
Of  that  which  had  possessed  my  heart, 
And  would  not  of  my  will  go  hence. 
'Twas  Autumn's  breath  ;  'twas  dear  as  kiss 
Of  any  worshipped  woman  is. 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.          175 

Some  snails  have  climb'd  the  throne  and  writ 
Their  silver  monograms  on  it 
In  unknown  tongues. 

I  sat  thereon, 

I  dreamed  until  the  day  was  gone ; 
I  blew  again  my  pearly  shell,  — 
Blew  long  and  strong,  and  loud  and  well ; 
I  puffed  my  cheeks,  I  blew,  as  when 
Horn'd  satyrs  danced  the  delight  of  men. 

Some  mouse-brown  cows  that  fed  within 
Looked  up.     A  cowherd  rose  hard  by, 
My  single  subject,  clad  in  skin, 
Nor  yet  half  clad.     I  caught  his  eye, 
He  stared  at  me,  then  turned  and  fled. 
He  frightened  fled,  and  as  he  ran, 
Like  wild  beast  from  the  face  of  man, 
Across  his  shoulder  threw  his  head. 
He  gathered  up  his  skin  of  goat 
About  his  breast  and  hairy  throat. 


176  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

He  stopped,  and  then  this  subject  true, 
Mine  only  one  in  lands  like  these 
Made  desolate  by  changeful  seas, 
Came  back  and  asked  me  for  a  sou. 


THE  SHIP  IN   THE  DESERT.          177 


XXXIX. 

AND  yet  again  through  the  watery  miles 
Of  reeds  I  rowed  till  the  desolate  isles 
Of  the  black  bead-makers  of  Venice  are  not. 
I  touched  where  a  single  sharp  tower  is  shot 
To  heaven,  and  torn  by  thunder  and  rent 
As  if  it  had  been  Time's  battlement. 
A  city  lies  dead,  and  this  great  gravestone 
Stands  at  its  head  like  a  ghost  alone. 

Some  cherry-trees  grow  here,  and  here 
An  old  church,  simple  and  severe 
In  ancient  aspect,  stands  alone 
Amid  the  ruin  and  decay,  all  grown 

In  moss  and  grasses. 

Old  and  quaint, 

With  antique  cuts  of  martyr'd  saint, 

8*  i. 


1 78          THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

The  gray  church  stands  with  stooping  knees, 
Defying  the  decay  of  seas. 

Her  pictured  Hell,  with  flames  blown  high, 
In  bright  mosaics  wrought  and  set 
When  man  first  knew  the  Nubian  art, 
Her  bearded  saints,  as  black  as  jet ; 
Her  quaint  Madonna,  dim  with  rain 
And  touch  of  pious  lips  of  pain, 
So  touched  my  lonesome  soul,  that  I 
Gazed  long,  then  came  and  gazed  again, 
And  loved,  and  took  her  to  my  heart. 

Nor  monk  in  black,  nor  Capuchin, 
Nor  priest  of  any  creed  was  seen. 
A  sun-browned  woman,  old  and  tall, 
And  still  as  any  shadow  is, 
Stole  forth  from  out  the  mossy  wall 
With  massive  keys  to  show  me  this : 
Came  slowly  forth,  and  following, 
Three  birds  —  and  all  with  drooping  wing. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.          179 

Three  mute  brown  babes  of  hers ;  and  they  — 
O,  they  were  beautiful  as  sleep, 
Or  death,  below  the  troubled  deep.. 
And  on  the  pouting  lips  of  these 
Red  corals  of  the  silent  seas, 
Sweet  birds,  the  everlasting  seal 
Of  silence  that  the  God  has  set 
On  this  dead  island,  sits  for  aye. . 

I  would  forget,  yet  not  forget 
Their  helpless  eloquence.     They  creep 
Somehow  into  my  heart,  and  keep 
One  bleak,  cold  corner,  jewel  set. 
They  steal  my  better  self  away 
To  them,  as  little  birds  that  day 
Stole  fruits  from  out  the  cherry-trees. 

So  helpless  and  so  wholly  still, 
So  sad,  so  wrapt  in  mute  surprise, 
That  I  did  love,  despite  my  will. 


i8o          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

One  little  maid  of  ten,  —  such  eyes, 
So  large  and  lonely,  so  divine,  — 
Such  pouting  lips,  such  peachy  cheek,  — 
Did  lift  her  perfect  eyes  to  mine, 
Until  our  souls  did  touch  and  speak ; 
Stood  by  me  all  that  perfect  day, 
Yet  not  one  sweet  word  could  she  say. 

She  turned  her  melancholy  eyes 
So  constant  to  my  own,  that' I 
Forgot  the  going  clouds,  the  sky, 
Found  fellowship,  took  bread  and  wine, 
And  so  her  little  soul  and  mine 
Stood  very  near  together  there. 
And  O,  I  found  her  very  fair. 
Yet  not  one  soft  word  could  she  say : 
What  did  she  think  of  all^that  day  ? 

The  sometime  song  of  gondolier 
Is  heard  afar.     The  fishermen 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  181 

Betimes  draw  net  by  ruined  shore, 
In  full  spring  time  when  east  winds  fall ; 
Then  traders  row  with  muffled  oar, 
Tedesca  or  the  turban'd  Turk, 
The  pirate,  at  some  midnight  work 
By  watery  wall,  -r-  but  that  is  all. 


i82          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


XL. 

REMOTE,  around  the  lonesome  ship, 
Old  Morgan  moved,  bat  knew  it  not, 
For  neither  star  nor  moon  fell  down  .  .  . 
I  trow  that  was  a  lonesome  spot 
He  found,  where  boat  and  ship  did  dip 
In  sands  like  some  half-sunken  town, 
And  all  things  rose  bat-winged  and  brown. 

At  last  before  the  leader  lay 
A  form  that  in  the  night  did  seem 
A  slain  Goliath. 

As  in  a  dream, 

He  drew  aside  in  his  slow  pace, 
And  look'd.     He  saw  a  sable  face, 
A  friend  that  fell  that  very  day, 
Thrown  straight  across  his  wearied  way. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  183 

He  falter'd  now.     His  iron  heart, 
That  never  yet  refused  its  part, 
Began  to  fail  him  ;  and  his  strength 
Shook  at  his  knees,  as  shakes  the  wind 
A  shatter'd  ship. 

His  scatter'd  mind 

Ranged  up  and  down  the  land.     At  length 
He  turn'd,  as  ships  turn,  tempest  toss'd, 
For  now  he  knew  that  he  was  lost, 
And  "Sought  in  vain  the  moon,  the  stars, 
In  vain  the  battle-star  of  Mars.' 

Again  he  moved.     And  now  again 
He  paused,  he  peer'd  along  the  plain, 
Another  form  before  him  lay. 
He  stood,  and  statue-white  he  stood, 
He  trembled  like  a  stormy  woodv — 
It  was  a  foeman  brown  and  gray. 

He  lifted  up  his  head  again, 


1 84          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

Again  he  search'd  the  great  profound 
For  moon,  for  star,  but  sought  in  vain. 
He  kept  his  circle  round  and  round ; 
The  great  ship  lifting  from  the  sand 
And  pointing  heavenward  like  a  hand. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT.         185 


XLI. 

AND  still  he  crept  along  the  plain, 
Yet  where  his  foeman  dead  again 
Lay  in  his  way  he  moved  around, 
And  soft  as  if  on  sacred  ground, 
And  did  not  touch  him  anywhere. 
It  might  have  been  he  had  a  dread, 
In  his  half-crazed  and  fever'd  brain, 
His  mortal  foe  might  wake  again 
If  he  should  dare  to  touch  him  there. 

He  circled  round  the  lonesome  ship 
Like  some  wild  beast  within  a  wall, 
That  keeps  his  paces  round  and  round. 
The  very  stillness  had  a  sound ; 
He  saw  strange  somethings  rise  and  dip  ; 


i86  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

He  felt  the  weirdness  like  a  pall 
Come  down  and  cover  him. 

It  seem'd 

To  take  a  form,  take  many  forms, 
To  talk  to  him,  to  reach  out  arms  ; 
Yet  on  he  kept,  and  silent  kept, 
And  as  he  led  he  lean'd  and  slept, 
And  as  he  slept  he  talk'd  and  dream'd. 

Then   shadows  follow'd,   stopp'd,   and 

stood 

Bewildered,  wandered  back  again, 
Came  on  and  then  fell  to  the  sand 
And  sinking  died. 

Then  other  men 

Did  wag  their  woolly  heads  and  laugh, 
Then  bend  their  necks  and  seem  to  quaff 
Of  cooling  waves  that  careless  flow 
Where  woods  and  long  strong  grasses  grow. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  187 

Yet  on  wound  Morgan,  leaning  low, 
With  head  upon  his  breast,  and  slow 
As  hand  upon  a  dial  plate. 
He  did  not  turn  his  course  or  quail, 
He  did  not  falter,  did  not  fail, 
Turn  right  or  left  or  hesitate. 

Some  far-off  sounds  had  lost  their  way, 
And  seem'd  to  call  to  Jiim  and  pray 
For  help,  as  if  they  were  affright. 
It  was  not  day,  it  seem'd  not  night, 
But  that  dim  land  that  lies  between 
The  mournful,  faithful  face  of  night 
And  loud  and  gold-bedazzled  day ; 
A  night  that  was  not  felt  but  seen. 

There  seem'd  not  then  the  ghost  of  sound. 
He  stepp'd  as  soft  as  step  the  dead ; 
Yet  on  he  led  in  solemn  tread, 
Bewilder'd,  blinded,  round  and  round, 


i88          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

About  the  great  black  ship  that  rose 
Tall-masted  as  that  ship  that  blows 
Her  ghost  below  lost  Panama,  — 
The  tallest  mast  man  ever  saw. 

Two  leaning  shadows  follow'd  him, 
Their  eyes  were  red,  their  teeth  shone  white, 
Their  limbs  did  lift  as  shadows  swim. 
Then  one  went  left  and  one  went  right, 
And  in  the  night  pass'd  out  of  night ; 
Pass'd  through  the  portals  black,  unknown, 
And  Morgan  totter'd  on  alone. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  189 


XLII. 

AND  why  he  still  survived  the  rest, 
Why  still  he  had  the  strength  to  stir, 
Why  still  he  stood  like  gnarle'd  oak 
That  buffets  storm  and  tempest  stroke, 
One  cannot  say,  save  but  for  her, 
That  helpless  being  on  his  breast ; 
At  rest ;  that  would  not  let  him  rest. 

She  did  not  speak,  she  did  not  stir  ; 
In  rippled  currents  over  her 
Her  black,  abundant  hair  pour'd  down 
Like  mantle  or  some  sable  gown. 

That  sad,  sweet  dreamer ;  she  who  knew 
Not  any  thing  of  earth  at  all, 
Nor  cared  to  know  its  bane  or  bliss ; 


190  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

• 

That  dove  that  did  not  touch  the  land, 
That  knew,  yet  did  not  understand. 
And  this  may  be  because  she  drew 
Her  all  of  life  right  from  the  hand 
Of  God,  and  did  not  choose  to  learn 
The  things  that  make  up  earth's  concern. 

Ah !  there  be  souls  none  understand ; 
Like  clouds,  they  cannot  touch  the  land, 
Drive  as  they  may  by  field  or  town. 
Then  we  look  wise  at  this  and  frown, 
And  we  cry,  "  Fool,"  and  cry,  "  Take  hold 
Of  earth,  and  fashion  gods  of  gold." 

.  .  .  Unanchor'd  ships,  they  blow  and  blow, 
Sail  to  and  fro,  and  then  go  down 
In  unknown  seas  that  none  shall  know, 
Without  one  ripple  of  renown. 
Poor  drifting  dreamers  sailing  by, 
They  seem  to  only  live  to  die. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          191 

Call  these  not  fools ;  the  test  of  worth 
Is  not  the  hold  you  have  of  earth. 
Lo !  there  be  gentlest  souls  sea-blown 
That  know  not  any  harbor  known. 
Now  it  may  be  the  reason  is 
They  touch  on  fairer  shores  than  this. 


192  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


XLIII. 

AND  dark-eyed  Ina  ?    Nestled  there, 
Half-hidden  in  her  glorious  hair, 
The  while  its  midnight  folds  fell  down 
From  out  his  great  arms  nude  and  brown, 
She  lay  against  his  hairy  breast, 
All  motionless  as  death,  below 
His  great  white  beard  like  shroud,  or  snow, 
As  if  in  everlasting  rest. 

He  totter'd  side  to  side  to  keep 
Erect  and  keep  his  steady  tread ; 
He  lean'd,  he  bent  to  her  his  head  .  .  . 
"  She  sleeps  uncommon  sound,"  he  said, 
*'  As  if  in  that  eternal  sleep, 
Where  cool  and  watered  willows  sweep." 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  193 

At  last  he  touch'd  a  fallen  group, 
Dead  fellows  tumbled  in  the  sands, 
Dead  foemen,  gather'd  to  the  dead. 
And  eager  now  the  man  did  stoop, 
Lay  down  his  load  and  reach  his  hands, 
And  stretch  his  form  and  look  steadfast 
And  frightful,  and  as  one  aghast 
And  ghostly  from  his  hollow  eyes. 
He  lean'd  and  then  he  raised  his  head, 
And  look'd  for  Vasques,  but  in  vain ; 
He  laid  his  two  great  arms  crosswise, 
Took  breath  a  time  with  trembling  main, 
Then  peered  again  along  the  plain. 

Lo  !  from  the  sands  another  face, 
The  last  that  follow'd  through  the  deep, 
Comes  on  from  out  the  lonesome  place. 
And  Vasques,  too,  survives ! 

But  where  ? 
His  last  bold  follower  lies  there, 


194          THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

Thrown  straight  across  old  Morgan's  track, 

As  if  to  check  him,  bid  him  back. 

He  stands,  he  does  not  dare  to  stir, 

He  watches  by  his  child  asleep, 

Fie  fears,  for  her :  but  only  her. 

The  man  who  ever  mock'd  at  death, 

He  hardly  dares  to  draw  his  breath. 

Beyond,  and  still  as  black  despair, 
A  man  rose  up,  stood  dark  and  tall, 
Stretch'd  out  his  neck,  reach'd  forth,  let  fall 
Dark  oaths,  and  Death  stood  waiting  there. 

He  drew  his  blade,  came  straight  as  death 
Right  up  before  the  follower, 
The  last  of  Morgan's  sable  men, 
While  Morgan  watched  aside  by  her, 
And  saw  his  foeman  wag  his  beard 
And  fiercest  visage  ever  seen. 
The  while  that  dead  man  lay  between. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          195 

I  think  no  man  there  drew  a  breath, 
I  know  that  no  man  quail'd  or  fear'd. 

The  tawny  dead  man  stretch'd  between, 
And  Vasques  set  his  foot  thereon. 
The  stars  were  seal'd,  the  moon  was  gone, 
The  very  darkness  cast  a  shade. 
The  scene  was  rather  heard  than  seen, 
The  rattle  of  a  single  blade.  .  .  . 

A  right  foot  rested  on  the  dead, 
A  black  hand  reach'd  and  clutch'd  a  beard, 
Then  neither  prayed,  nor  dreamed  of  hope  .  .  . 
A  fierce  face  reach'd,  a  fierce  face  peer'd  .  .  . 
No  bat  went  whirling  overhead, 
No  star  fell  out  of  Ethiope.  .  .  . 

The  dead  man  lay  between  them  there, 
The  two  men  glared  as  tigers  glare, 
The  black  man  held  him  by  the  beard. 


196          THE   SHIP   IN  THE  DESERT. 

He  wound  his  hand,  he  held  him  fast, 
And  tighter  held,  as  if  he  fear'd 
The  man  might  'scape  him  at  the  last. 
Whiles  Morgan  did  not  speak  or  stir, 
But  stood  in  silent  watch  by  her. 

Not  long.  ...  A  light  blade  lifted,  thrust, 
A  blade  that  leapt  and  swept  about, 
So  wizard-like,  like  wand  in  spell, 
So  like  a  serpent's  tongue  thrust  out  .  .  . 
Thrust  twice,  thrust  thrice,  thrust  as  he  fell, 
Thrust  through  until  it  touch'd  the  dust. 

Yet  ever  as  he  thrust  and  smote, 
The  black  hand  like  an  iron  band 
Did  tighten  to  the  gasping  throat. 
He  fell,  but  did  not  loose  his  hand ; 
The  two  fell  dead  upon  the  sand. 

Lo !  up  and  from  the  fallen  forms 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  197 

0 

Two  ghosts  came  forth  like  cloud  of  storms. 
Two  tall  ghosts  stood,  and  looking  back, 
With  hands  all  bloody,  and  hands  clutch'd, 
Strode  on  together,  till  they  touch'd, 
Along  the  lonesome,  chartless  track, 
Where  dim  Plutonian  darkness  fell, 
Then  touch'd  the  outer  rim  of  hell, 
And  looking  back  their  great  despair 
Sat  sadly  down  as  resting  there. 


198  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 


XLIV. 

PEKCHANCE  there  was  a  strength  in  death  ; 
The  scene  it  seem'd  to  nerve  the  man 
To  superhuman  strength.     He  rose, 
Held  up  his  head,  began  to  scan 
The  heavens  and  to  take  his  breath 
Right  strong  and  lustily.    He  now 
Resumed  his  load,  and  with  his  eye 
Fixed  on  a  star  that  filtered  through 
The  farther  west,  pushed  bare  his  brow, 
And  kept  his  course  with  head  held  high, 
As  if  he  strode  his  deck  and  drew 
His  keel  below  some  lifted  light 
That  watched  the  rocky  reef  at  night. 

How  lone  he  was,  how  patient  she, 
Upon  that  lonesome  sandy  sea  1 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          199 

It  were  a  sad,  unpleasant  sight 
To  follow  them  through  all  the  night, 
Until  the  time  they  lifted  hand, 
And  touched  at  last  a  watered  land. 

The  turkeys  walked  the  tangled  grass, 
And  scarcely  turned  to  let  them  pass. 
There  was  no  sign  of  man,  or  sign 
Of  savage  beast.     'Twas  so  divine. 
It  seem'd  as  if  the  bended  skies 
Were  rounded  for  this  Paradise. 

The  large-eyed  antelope  came  down 
From  off  their  windy  hills,  and  blew 
Their  whistles  as  they  wandered  through 
The  open  groves  of  watered  wood ; 
Then  came  as  light  as  if  a- wing, 
And  reached  their  noses  wet  and  brown, 
And  stamped  their  little  feet,  and  stood 
Close  up  before  them  wondering. 


200          THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

What  if  this  were  the  Eden  true, 
They  found  in  far  heart  of  the  new 
And  unnamed  westmost  world  I  sin". 

O* 

Where  date  and  history  had  birth, 
And  man  first  'gan  his  wandering 
To  go  the  girdles  of  the  earth  I 

It  lies  a  little  isle  mid  land, 
An  island  in  a  sea  of  sand  ; 
With  reedy  waters  and  the  balm 
Of  an  eternal  summer  air. 
Some  blowy  pines  toss  tall  and  fair  ; 
And  there  are  grasses  long  and  strong, 
And  tropic  fruits  that  never  fail : 
The  Manzinetta  pulp,  the  palm, 
The  prickly  pear,  with  all  the  song 
Of  summer  birds. 

And  there  the  quail 
Makes  nest,  and  you  may  hear  her  call 
All  day  from  out  the  chaparral. 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  201 

A  land  where  white  man  never  trod, 
And  Morgan  seems  some  demi-god, 
That  haunts  the  red  man's  spirit  land. 
A  land  where  never  red  man's  hand 
Is  lifted  up  in  strife  at  all. 
He  holds  it  sacred  unto  those 
Who  bravely  fell  before  their  foes, 
And  rarely  dares  its  desert  wall. 

Here  breaks  nor  sound  of  strife  or  sign ; 
Rare  times  a  red  man  comes  this  way, 
Alone,  and  battle-scarred  and  gray, 
And  then  he  bends  devout  before 
The  maid  who  keeps  the  cabin  door, 
And  deems  her  sacred  and  divine. 

Within  the  island's  heart,  'tis  said, 
Tall  trees  are  bending  down  with  bread, 
And  that  a  fountain  pure  as  truth, 
And  deep  and  mossy  bound  and  fair, 
Is  bubbling  from  the  forest  there,  — 

Perchance  the  fabled  fount  of  youth ! 
9* 


202  THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT. 

An  isle  where  never  cares  betide ; 
Where  solitude  comes  not,  and  where 
The  soul  is  ever  satisfied. 
An  isle  where  skies  are  ever  fair, 
Where  men  keep  never  date  nor  day, 
Where  Time  has  thrown  his  glass  away. 

This  isle  is  all  their  own.     No  more 
The  flight  by  day,  the  watch  by  night. 
Dark  Ina  twines  about  the  door 
The  scarlet  blooms,  the  blossoms  white, 
And  winds  red  berries  in  her  hair, 
And  never  knows  the  name  of  care. 

She  has  a  thousand  birds ;  they  blow 
In  rainbow  clouds,  in  clouds  of  snow ; 
The  birds  take  berries  from  her  hand  ; 
They  come  and  go  at  her  command.- 

She  has  a  thousand  pretty  birds, 


THE  SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.  203 

That  sing  her  summer  songs  all  day; 
Small  black-hoofed  antelope  in  herds, 
And  squirrels  bushy-tail'd  and  gray, 
With  round  and  sparkling  eyes  of  pink, 
And  cunning-faced  as  you  can  think. 

She  has  a  thousand  busy  birds ; 
And  is  she  happy  in  her  isle, 
With  all  her  feathered  friends  and  herds  ? 
For  when  has  Morgan  seen  her  smile  ? 

She  has  a  thousand  cunning  birds, 
They  would  build  nestings  in  her  hair ; 
She  has  brown  antelope  in  herds  ; 
She  never  knows  the  name  of  care  ; 
Why  then  is  she  not  happy  there  ? 

All  patiently  she  bears  her  part ; 
She  has  a  thousand  birdlings  there, 
These  birds  they  would  build  in  her  hair ; 
But  not  one  bird  builds  in  her  heart. 


204          THE  SHIP  IN  THE   DESERT. 

She  has  a  thousand  birds  ;  yet  she 
Would  give  teu  thousand  cheerfully, 
All  bright  of  plume  and  loud  of  tongue, 
And  sweet  as  ever  trilled  or  sung, 
For  one  small  fluttered  bird  to  come 
And  sit  within  her  heart,  though  dumb. 

She  has  a  thousand  birds  ;  yet  one 
Is  lost,  and,  lo  !  she  is  undone. 
She  sighs  sometimes.     She  looks  away, 
And  yet  she  does  not  weep  or  say. 

She  has  a  thousand  birds.     The  skies 
Are  fashioned  for  her  paradise ; 
A  very  queen  of  fairy  land. 
With  all  earth's  fruitage  at  command, 
And  yet  she  does  not  lift  her  eyes. 
She  sits  upon  the  water's  brink 
As  mournful  soul'd  as  you  can  think. 


THE   SHIP  IN  THE  DESERT.          205 

She  has  a  thousand  birds  ;  and  yet 
She  will  look  downward,  nor  forget 
The  fluttered  white-winged  turtle  dove, 
The  changeful-throated  birdling,  love, 
That  came,  that  sang  through  tropic  trees, 
Then  flew  for  aye  across  the  seas. 

The  waters  kiss  her  feet ;  above 
Her  head  the  trees  are  blossoming, 
And  fragrant  with  eternal  spring. 
Her  birds,  her  antelope  are  there, 
Her  birds  they  would  build  in  her  hair ; 
She  only  waits  her  birdling,  love.  / 

She  turns,  she  looks  along  the  plain, 
Imploring  love  to  come  again. 


Cambridge:  Press  of  John  Wilson  &  Son. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

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